


Contractually Obligated Girlfriend

by NickelModelTales



Category: Original Work
Genre: Comedy, Drug Use, F/M, Falling In Love, Gossip, Hollywood, Hypnotism, Master/Slave, Modeling, Porn With Plot, Public Sex, Romantic Comedy, Shameless Smut, bodybuilder, celebrity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:14:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 30,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28438221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NickelModelTales/pseuds/NickelModelTales
Summary: An erotic hypnosis novella: Hollywood’s hottest macho man is a fraud!  To fool the paparazzi, his managers hire a desperate actress to play his loving girlfriend.  But when the movie star proves too obnoxious for any woman, perhaps the actress can be hypnotized to find him attractive?  Because there’s no way these two can find real love…
Comments: 4
Kudos: 7





	1. Reese Tarentan, Sweet Jesus!

**_Los Angeles, 2010_ **

Angie squirmed, smoothing down her miniskirt for at least the twentieth time. Then she scrutinized her trim figure in the elevator mirror, absently patting her platinum blonde hair. Again.

“You look fine, darling,” frowned Christine, her cigarette-stained voice almost cracking. “Just fine.”

“I know, I know, I know…” Angie fretted. “But… Ugh! They didn’t tell you want this was about?”

“No, but its something biiiiiiiiig!” Christine half-sang.

Wishing she felt even slightly in control, Angie frowned at her agent. Well, her agent- ** _representative_**. Newbies to Hollywood didn’t get agents. Hell, they were lucky if they got picked up by any talent agency, even a Z-Level agency like Va-Va-Voom Girls Inc. Angie supposed she should feel lucky.

She turned about, checking to make sure her low-cut top wasn’t showing off too much cleavage. “You think I should have worn the button-down blouse instead?” she worried.

“You look fine, darling,” sighed Christine. “Just fine.”

***** *****

Only twenty years old, Angie Winters had arrived in Hollywood by the most roundabout method possible.

Two years back, she’d been a mere high school student, doing squats at her Glendale gym. She was going easy on herself, only three sets of twenty-five reps, lifting one-thirty pounds. No biggie. After that, she’d do an hour of cardio.

Angie glanced up into the wall mirrors. A skinny, greasy-haired fellow was standing behind her, open gazing as she flexed her rear end. His jaw was unhinged in open-mouthed wonder.

“Do you **_mind?_** ” Angie snapped.

“Baby, your butt is fantastic!” the man enthused.

Before Angie could scream “ ** _PERVERT!!!_** ”, the guy bounded forward. “Baby, baby, let me explain,” he said quickly. “I’m Jimmy ‘ _Classy’_ McGhee, Classy’s the middle name! Heh. Never mind. Listen, toots, your butt is **_FAN_** tastic, just fantastic! You know that? I see that butt, and I say ‘ _Yowza!_ ’ How’d you like that butt to make you into a famous actress?”

What could Angie say, except, “…huh?”

“Exactly!” Classy cried, pressing a damp and smudged business card into Angie’s hand. “I’m with Va-Va-Voom Girls Inc, only the most glamorous talent agency in Hollywood, baby! Sign with me, and you’ll be in movies, yeah!”

Classy somehow got Angie’s phone number, and he relentlessly pursued her for a week. And although the guy was incredibly sleazy, Angie had to admit… he was giving her a genuine opportunity.

And what did she have to lose? The young woman was eighteen, living with her bitchy foster mom, and working as a hostess at the Olive Garden. So Angie signed to be represented by Va-Va-Voom Inc.

“Great!” Classy declared once the ink was dry. “Okay, the thing is, baby, you got no acting skills to speak of. So that’s a problem.”

“So now you send me to acting school?” Angie guessed hopefully.

“What? Naw,” spat Classy. “Naw, we ain’t got money for that. You’ll have to earn that yourself. So here’s what we do. You go back to the gym and make that butt even **_more_** fabulous. And I’ll enlist you in, you know, a bodybuilding pageant.”

“A **_what???_** ” recoiled the young woman.

“Ah, you’ll be great!” Classy assured Angie, and even patted her on the rump for encouragement.

After smacking Classy across the face, Angie reflected a little and realized that she’d rather be building her physique than seating people at Olive Garden. So she threw herself into exercise, strengthening her muscles, trimming her BMI, and shaping her gluties into godlike wonders.

She did everything a pro bodybuilder needed to do. She woke a 4 AM to go running. She hit different gyms to vary her workout loads. She took every fitness class she could find. And she restricted her diet like crazy! From that day on, she dined strictly on steamed fish, steamed broccoli, wheat germ, organic vegetables, and lots of protein supplements. It killed her to do it, but she had to swear off her favorite junk food, Hoho’s. She’d loved Hoho’s as a girl.

All the hard work paid off. Angie entered, competed in, and won the Iron Buns Pageant! Her victory crowned her Miss Iron Buns 2008, a spectacular accomplishment in the pro bodybuilding community. Angie’s foster mom was less than thrilled.

“ ** _Now_** I go to acting school?” Angie asked Classy.

“Uh, no, not yet baby,” the talent scout hemmed. “You gotta work as a butt model, just to build up your profile, you know? Lissen, I got this legal thing, you know, it’s a stupid matter. Did you hear about it? (I didn’t know the girl wasn’t eighteen! She looked legal!) Anyway, you won’t be working with me no more, you’ll be working with other agents at Va-Va-Voom. Good luck!” And that was the last Angie saw Classy.

Soon, the young woman was doing modeling shoots. She was always photographed in string bikinis, the string bikinis that were little more than string and three tiny patches of cloth. Angie’s generous cleavage and buttocks were **_always_** exposed, and she grew resigned to wearing these impractical outfits while working as a professional model.

While she was a spectacular beauty, Angie’s famous derriere was photographed more than her face. Advertisers loved those firm, round buttocks. In fact, Sky Blue Suntan Lotion proudly selected Angie’s posterior as their Official Butt Mascot. Clad only in a tiny red G-string thong, Angie’s two bare cheeks were featured on billboards across America, lovingly displaying how well Sky Blue could tan.

But Angie knew she wasn’t interested in dropping her pants for a living. She was weary of the sexy bikinis. She pressed Va-Va-Voom to send her on Hollywood auditions whenever possible.

“Who’re you again?” many a producer would ask when Angie arrived to read for a part. “Oh, you’re the Butt Girl! Can we see you bend over?”

Angie tried out for countless roles, only to come up short every time, except for the smallest and dumbest of roles. “But if we need a butt cameo, we’ll call you!” she was told over and over.

***** *****

But today’s audition had to be different, right? I mean, Angie had gotten a summons from none other than ACA, easily the most elite of Hollywood’s A-list talent agencies! Why, ACA’s was * ** _THE*_** entertainment industry powerhouse! Movie stars and rock stars were made at ACA. ACA was the Mount Olympus of Hollywood.

“Oh Jesus,” Angie fretted, thinking about how her future might change in the next hour. Her stomach was twisting itself into a pretzel. “Seriously, the ACA people didn’t tell you want this meeting is for?”

“Fer christsakes, stop asking,” snapped Christine.

Angie cast a worried glance over her agent-representative. Christine was short, overweight, badly dressed, and wearing enough makeup for twenty women. She was scratching her rear end. She hardly exuded professional charm.

The elevator dinged, coming to a rest.

“Top floor,” Christine observed. “Ooo. That means big things, kid. Look pretty. And show off your tits.”

The double doors rolled open. Angie stepped out, and found herself in an expansive lobby, with a long white reception desk, original postmodern art on the walls, and soft lighting from a natural skylight. A string quartet was playing softly from the speakers.

“Angie Winters?” a pleasant, feminine voice said.

There was a thin and beautiful Asian woman standing before the elevator bank, a leather-bound iPad in her thin hands. She wore a plain black dress and strappy high heels. Her smile was warm.

“Ah, hello, hello, hello!” Christine cried, lunging forward and vigorously pumping the woman’s hand. “Christine Purnanski, Va-Va-Voom Talent, only the best from Va-Va-Voom! Heh heh. This here is my client, isn’t she a doll, Angie’s ready for your big project, yes, she does nude scenes, you should see her ass!”

Angie turned bright red. _Nude scenes???_

“Ah, ma’am,” the Asian woman said politely, yanking back her hand. “So sorry, I’m Ellen, I’m to escort you around. Please follow me?”

“Heh,” harrumphed Christine. “Oh, okay. Sure. Lead on, toots.”

Ellen smiled, although not-so-warmly this time. She turned, and glided into the ACA offices. As an expert in fitness, Angie could tell that Ellen spent a lot of time in a yoga studio.

“In there, please,” Ellen said, gesturing to a set of double doors. “Mr. Howard will be right with you.”

“Sure, sure, sure, sure, **_OH MY GOD!_** ” Christine said, her eyes popping when she stepped into the luxury suite. Immediately, Angie and Christine saw the panoramic view of downtown Burbank through the tall plate glass windows.

“Jesus Christ, Angie baby girl,” Christine squawked, “can you believe this?!?”

Embarrassed by her agent-representative, Angie murmured “thanks” to Ellen. But the other young woman was already sweeping away.

The suite was decorated in all in white: white carpet, white plush chairs, white couches, white meeting tables, white crystal minibar, white bookcases holding all-white books, white trim running along the tops of the white walls. Several handpainted portraits of beautiful young nudes gazed down at Christine and Angie. The nudes were also white.

“Oh, you’ve made it big time, baby, big time!” chortled Christine, helping herself to a brandy at the bar. “They don’t put you in a room like this when you’re gettin’ cast in a spearmint gum commercial! Heh.”

Angie smoothed down her miniskirt one more time. She wished she felt more confident.

***** *****

Almost two hours later, no-one had arrived to greet the duo from Va-Va-Voom. It was almost 11 AM. Christine was on her third brandy, and had gotten bored of inspecting the paintings and bookcase. Every now and then, she’d point out some object in the room, and ask, “How much d’ya think **_this_** is worth?”

Angie slouched in a plush chair, no longer caring if her miniskirt rode up or not.

The double doors opened, and a tall man in black slacks, an open shirt, and moccasins appeared. The man had a spiked haircut, two stud earrings in both earlobes, and a ring on his every finger. He walked with the arrogant manner of someone who knows he can get away with anything.

In a flash, Angie also knew: this man was gay.

The fellow paused, eyeing Christine with distain. “Ew,” he scowled.

“How are ya?” Christine cried, rushing to shake the man’s hand. “Christine Purnanski, Va-Va-Voom Talent, only the best from Va-Va-Voom! Heh. Lemme introduce my client, she’s right here… Baby, get over here!”

Angie sprang to her feet.

“This here is Abby,” beamed Christine.

“Angie,” Angie reminded her.

“Right, right!” Christine plowed on. ”Lissen, my Abby’s not only cute ‘n sexy, but she’s got the best butt in Hollywood! Have you ever seen my girl’s ass? Man, she-“

“Okay,” the man pronounced, looking ill. He had a slight lisp. “You need to stop.”

Instantly, Christine’s jaw snapped shut.

“Hmmmmmm…” drawled the man. He gazed at Angie, and his eyes narrowed into critical slits. With a laser-like focus, we walked around the young actress once, scrutinizing her every inch.

Not knowing what to do, Angie remained frozen in place. She wore her sweetest smile.

“Mmm, nice,” the man said disdainfully. He grabbed Angie by the buttock and squeezed, just a little.

The beautiful young woman repressed a yelp.

“Yeah, firm, that’s good,” nodded the man. His fingers glided up Angie’s torso and arms, and he gently lifted one breast. “And the tits are both big and real,” he said approvingly. “Better. Chick, have you done any real acting?”

Angie figured she was being addressed. “I, ah, just shot a commercial for Oscar Meyer,” she ventured.

“I’ll bet,” the man said, sarcasm dripping from both words. “Have any lines?”

“Three.”

“Good,” the man sniffed. He strode to the wall and picked up a telephone. His fingers pressed exactly one button.

“Yeah, this one will do,” he said blandly into the receiver. “Bring everyone.” And he hung up.

“Now then,” huffed the man, returning to stand before Angie. “My name is Dexter Howard. Remember that name, the pleasure’s yours. I’m the general manager of Reese Tarentan.”

Angie’s mind nearly exploded. **_Reese Tarentan???_** No, she couldn’t have heard that right. Reese Tarentan was… Jesus, he was only the _Hottest. Actor. Ever._

“ ** _OH MY GOD!_** ” shrieked Christine, and then fainted dead away.

***** *****

The whole world had been mesmerized by Reese Tarentan right from the start. Reese burst into superstardom when he was cast as Drexler, the smart-alec fighterpilot in Danger Skies. Danger Skies, of course, went on to become the single biggest box office smash of 2005! Oh, Reese was dazzling; manly and arrogant to his male fans, cute and oh-so-hot to his **_hundreds of millions_** female (and gay) followers. His voice alone was enough to make the devoted sigh with contentment.

Reese was quickly rushed into the lead role of Total Deliverance, a sexy cop thriller which also smashed records. From that point on, Reese was the A-lister all of Hollywood wanted. His films, from Body of Desire, Executive Action, Danger Skies 2: Beyond Dangerous, and The Apocalypse Planet, grossed a total of **_$3.5 billion worldwide_**. It was a widely-known Hollywood secret that producers had begged Reese to play Edward Cullen in Twilight; when Reese was unsatisfied with the role, the producers reluctantly settled on Robert Pattinson.

Ryan Reynolds, Garrett Hedlund, Enrique Iglesias, Zac Efron, Taylor Lautner, Cam Gigandet, even the great Leonardo DiCaprio… they all secretly wished they could have Reese Tarentan’s mighty career.

Like every other heterosexual woman in America, Angie had followed Reese’s turbulent personal life in the media with great interest. The actor was notoriously picky about who he dated, and none of his lady friends seemed to last for very long. Reese also spent a great deal of his time and money suing the tabloids, which made his sex life seem so very, very juicy. Everyone wanted to know what was going on in his bedroom.

***** *****

“Yes, Reese Tarentan,” scowled Dexter Howard, frowning at Angie’s shocked expression. “You’ve heard of him, I assume?”

“I… I… yes!” Angie chirped.

“Oh goodie,” Mr. Howard grunted. “Well, you’ll be working with Reese.”

Angie felt light-headed.

The suite’s doors opened once more, and now a small army of people tromped inside. Every last one of them wore expensive suits, shoes, and jewelry. All of them locked eyes upon Angie and pursed their lips. Not one of them extended a smile.

“So,” Mr. Howard said, gesturing, “this is everybody. Pay attention. This is Delmont Dupree, Reese’s image manager. And this is Horton McNairten, Reese’s publicist, and Johnny Icksaon, Reese’s digital publicist, and La James Banner, Reese’s marketing publicist. Here is Okarana Tuule, she’s Reese’s event scheduler. Oh, this is Chananka, she’s Reese’s metaphysical guru, and Flair Maddens, she’s Reese’s stylist, also with Ylanda Unans, Plana Dolls there – hi there, Plana – and the whole team at Galaxy Image. And this is Gretchen, Reese’s drama coach. Its just Gretchen, no last name, like Cher. Who else? Oh, right, this is Wunyan, Reese’s personal life fitness trainer, Kakka Johns, Reese’s compatibility dietitian, Sandy Brookhousan, Reese’s transcendental astrologer and Scientology mentor. Oh, I nearly forgot, here’s Wong, Reese’s AAA sponsor, don’t make fun of his name, Reese hates that.

“Also… I didn’t forget you guys… this is Carter Sansans III, Reese’s primary contract attorney. Are you getting all of these names? You’ll have to know these people. This is Raghu Ram Shakir, Reese’s property rights attorney, Hans Von Riche, Reese’s chief litigation attorney, although he just coordinates between Reese’s three law firms. Say hello to Ratsamashokreddy Vu, Reese’s other primary contract attorney. Oh, I nearly forget the Johns: John Swipe, John Handel, John Turtlebeck, John Sterling, and John Carry. Oh, and John Nethanlander. They’re all attorneys, too.”

“Uh… hi,” Angie smiled.

“Now then,” Mr. Howard said crisply, “to business.”

“Wait,” fretted Angie. “Er, shouldn’t my agent be, you know, conscious for this part?”

“Oh, right,” Mr. Howard sighed, as if remembering Christine annoyed him. “Sure, whatever. Someone go get some smelling salts… or something…?”

Angie knelt at her agent-representative’s head, gently slapping Christine on the cheek. “Christine,” she fussed. “Oh man, Christine, wake up!”

Christine’s eyes popped open. “ ** _Reese Tarentan!_** ” she cried out reflexively. “ ** _Sweet Jesus!_** ”

“Yeah, okay, let’s get you off the carpet,” Angie groaned, trying to lift the older woman herself.

Without a lot of dignity, Christine scrambled to her feet. “Hey, hiya, hey there!” she beamed, grabbing Mr. Howard’s hand once more. “Christine Purnanski, Va-Va-Voom Girls, Inc! Only the best from Va-Va-”

“Now can we just get down to business?” Mr. Howard interrupted, disgusted.

***** *****

Angie and Christine were seated on one of the couches. Mr. Howard and the army of Reese Tarentan’s consultants loomed over them. A servant of some kind appeared, setting up a polished, metal table before Angie and Christine.

“Now then,” Mr. Howard sighed, radiating boredom, “on behalf of ACA and Reese’s management team, we’d like to offer Ms. Winters…” He nodded at Angie. “…a role. Of sorts. But a good role.”

“Sure, sure, sure, sure,” Christine said eagerly. “You want my client to show her butt? Cause she’ll do full nakey, if you want.”

“Christine!” wailed Angie.

“Ah, no,” Mr. Howard said disdainfully. He snapped his fingers.

One of the John lawyers stepped forward, placing one thick document before Angie, another before Christine. “These are NDAs, Nondisclosure Agreements,” he explained. “It means if either of you breathe a fucking word of this meeting to anyone – **_anyone_** – Mr. Reese Tarentan has the right to sue you for five times your monetary worth. Maybe more.”

“Sign it,” instructed Mr. Howard. “Last page.”

Christine immediately turned the last page and scribbled her name on the dotted line.

But Angie gaped. The NDA was written in a tight font, with long sentences. She’d never seen such a document before.

“Sign it, or this meeting is over,” warned Mr. Howard.

“Sign it, baby, sign it!” Christine urged. “Hurry, hurry, sign it! I signed mine.”

Angie swallowed, then flipped to the back page. She signed.

“Thanks,” the John lawyer said, swooping in. He snatched the NDA’s and then nodded at Mr. Howard.

Now a second John lawyer appeared, this one openly staring at Angie’s breasts. “Here, uh, here is Reese’s customized COG contract,” he said in way of explanation. “Its, ah, very through.”

“COG contract?” Angie said blankly.

Mr. Howard sighed dramatically. “COG is Contractually Obligated Girlfriend,” he drawled, inspecting his manicure.

Angie blinked. “Contra… what?”

“Oh for God’s sakes,” Mr. Howard said, pained. He looked Heavenward, as if praying for strength. “So… and here, I’ll remind you that you’re now under an NDA… Reese has, er, a certain media image he has to maintain.”

Now the army of consultants jumped in.

“Our focus groups indicate general audiences and our key demographics want to see Reese in a loving, stable relationship,” La James Banner, the marketing publicist, exclaimed. “The public wants to see Reese with another attractive, superhot young lady, doing – you know – normal things. Going to film premieres. Five star restaurant openings. Exclusive Hollywood parties. Maybe even shopping at private Rodeo Drive boutiques.”

“For astrological reasons and to tease the tabloids,” Chananka the Metaphysical Guru said, “Reese should only be with this woman for one month. No longer. Then he must find a new girlfriend.”

Delmont Dupree, Reese’s image manager, stepped in. “Polling among our key demographics indicates that Reese’s girlfriend should be very, very blonde. She should have big boobs, have a big ass, have a tiny waist, be athletic, sexy, and a model of some kind. She should look great in a little black dress, jeans and a tee shirt, and a size 2 string bikini.”

“And also look great when photographed topless on Reese’s yacht,” added Johnny Icksaon, the digital publicist.

“Yes, yes, yes. Well, we’ll work out the schedule requirements,” snapped Mr. Howard, taking control once more. To Angie, he said, “basically, you will have to pose as Reese’s girlfriend whenever he’s in public or semi-public. You’ll fawn over him, laugh at his jokes, act like you’re so all into him, in every way.”

Angie’s jaw dropped.

“Huh,” said Christine, also taken aback. “Uh, is this for a reality show… or somethin’…?”

“Reality show?” balked Mr. Howard.

All of Reese’s people recoiled, as if insulted.

“No, not a pissant reality show!” Mr. Howard exclaimed, indignant. “You think the greatest actor of his generation would stoop to that filth?”

“Oh, no,” Christine said quickly. “No, no, no, of course not, no. But… I mean… He’s frickin’ **_Reese Tarentan!_** He could literally date any woman in the world!” The agent giggled. “I mean, I’m available, if Mr. Tarentan wants-“

“Ew, stop,” Mr. Howard said instantly.

“Then why-“

“Look,” snapped Mr. Howard, once again looking distraught. “Let’s just say, that for PR reasons… its best if we give the audience what they want.” To Angie, he said, “Just think of things this way: You’re an actress, and you’re playing a role. You’re playing the role of Reese’s girlfriend. You can do that, right?”

“I, uh…” Angie didn’t know what to think. “Well, I’m not a hooker!”

“No-one said you were, babe,” Mr. Howard assured her. “Look, I’m totally serious: You’re being cast as Reese’s girlfriend in public, nothing more. You’ll be contractually obligated to appear with him when he needs to be seen out and about. That’s all.”

Carter Sansans III, Reese’s primary contract attorney, cleared his throat. Very loudly.

“Oh, yeah,” grumbled Mr. Howard. “Almost forgot. You’ll be required to go to the Spirit Image Awards with Reese.”

Angie’s blue eyes bulged. “The Spirit Images?” she echoed, in awe.

“Yeah,” Mr. Howard squirmed, inspecting the tips of his shoes. “You gotta get him through the Spiries. Okay? Nothing to it. You just sit next to him, hold his hand, then clap when he’s won.”

“He’s winning the award?” Christine asked, impressed. “Don’t they vote on the Spiries by secret ballot?”

“Um, sure,” said Mr. Howard. “Look, maybe I’m not explaining this opportunity in the right way, Angie Baby. If you do this for Reese, he’ll be, like, really grateful. But you should know also that there’s a lot of cache in being Reese Tarentan’s ex-girlfriend. Your face will be known. Casting agents will want to see you. That’s worth somethin’.”

Mr. Howard was right. Angie had heard of a girl who once was the mistress of a famous producer. The producer’s wife made a public scene, the mistress was featured on TMZ… and now, she was a regular on a soap opera. There were less honorable ways to make it in Hollywood.

Angie licked her lips. “When would I start?” she asked.

***** *****


	2. Absolutely Raving Bonkers

Traffic into Beverly Hills was lighter than usual. Dexter Howard steered his cherry red Porsche Boxster toward Bellagio Road, the tightening feeling in his stomach returning once more. He drove with the top down. Sometimes that helped him feel more in control. Sometimes.

There was a small army of photographers laying siege to the gates of 10864 Bellagio, practically standing on one another’s shoulders to shoot pictures over the black iron fence. At least five news vans were parked outside, their reporters craning their necks towards the mansion within.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Howard cried.

The reporters spotted him, and right away, they came stampeding over. Before Howard knew it, his car was surrounded, and microphones were thrust into his face.

“Hey, hey Mr. Howard!” the reporters shouted. “Isn’t it true that Reese Tarentan became a Hari Krishna this weekend?”

“Didn’t Reese blow $300,000 for a private party at Spearmint Rhino… in the kitchens?”

“Did Reese promise Snoop Dogg to help him campaign for President?”

“Hey, how come Reese has chimpanzees running around on his front lawn?”

 _Chimpanzees?_ Howard thought in alarm.

Leaning on the horn, the manager inched his way through the horde of paparazzi, who grudgingly allowed him to pass. He swiped his electric keycard against the door scanner, drove through the gate, then paused to make sure no photographer had the nerve to dash onto the mansion’s grounds. Only when the gate clanged shut did Dexter drive up the long driveway to the mansion.

Sure enough, there **_were_** chimpanzees running about on the well-tended grounds. “…Jesus Christ!” Howard muttered to himself.

***** *****

The mansion itself at 10864 Bellagio had once belonged to Fatty Arbuckle, or Gloria Swanson, or Gary Cooper, or Burt Lancaster, or **_somebody_** famous back in the day. And it had been a glittering spectacle on the day when Reese purchased it. But then, perhaps three months back, Reese had met D’alsn’o’*’ghorth, an experimental concept artist, at a Tribeca Trash Sculpture Gallery. Although absolutely no-one could comprehend D’alsn’o’*’ghorth’s work (or pronounce his/her name), Reese was smitten. The artist was hired on the spot to “reconceptualize” Reese’s house. Now the grand old mansion was splattered with multiple layers of florescent lime and purple paint.

Howard ignored the ugliness of the house, and parked in the five-car driveway. He grabbed his briefcase. Within three minutes, he was pushing his way through the mansion’s double front doors, hoping Reese’s latest entourage of weirdos wouldn’t be too outlandish. This time.

In the main sitting-room, an all-male, all-nude, all-talentless, all-stoned retro grunge band was blasting through a truly awful song. In fact, it was entirely possible that every band member was playing a different piece, Howard honestly couldn’t tell. A small crowd of hippies was applauding madly for the band, although Howard judged that they were even more coked-out than the musicians. And in the far corner, a wizened old woman dressed in a grim reaper cloak was waving her hands in the air, crying, “I see the future! I see the future! I see the future!”

 _Oh my God…!_ Howard thought to himself, wincing.

Still things could have been worse. Last month, Reese had invited Chubby Martinez, the notorious Internet swindler, into his home for a week. Howard was certain Chubby had dried to steal all of Reese’s credit card numbers.

Forcing himself to ignore the current assemblage of bizarro characters, the celebrity manager charged up the main staircase. At the top, he found a frustrated maid, who was doing her best to reclaim her cleaning cart from a rogue chimpanzee. The chimp laughed with delight.

Dexter couldn’t care less for the maid’s troubles. “Where’s Khisa?” he demanded.

“Uh, main bedroom,” the maid grunted, then whacked the chimpanzee with a feather duster. The chimp retaliated by spraying her with cleaning fluid.

“Gah!” the maid spluttered.

***** *****

Dexter pushed his way through the double doors of the master bedroom. Inside, he saw only Khisa Beckenstone, the beautiful young Englishwoman who had been hired as Reese’s (latest) Personal Lifestyle Manager. Khisa looked positively exhausted.

What is a Personal Lifestyle Manager, you might reasonably ask? It is not a career I would recommend. Khisa’s sole responsibility was to make sure Reese Tarentan made reasonable day-to-day choices. You know, things like remembering to put on your underwear **_before_** putting on your pants, how to make a bowl of cold cereal, not racing your golf carts against your idiot friends while indoors, and generally not using blowtorches under any circumstances. Khisa’s job was endless and thankless, indeed.

Howard scowled. “Where’s Reese?” he demanded.

Khisa blinked, thought for a minute, then replied, “Um… He’s-“

Just then, the saloon doors to the walk-in closet burst open, causing both Howard and Khisa to jump. Reese Tarentan himself bounded through, his eyes wild and flicking in every direction at once. He was sweating and panting heavily. Reese began dashing around the room.

Howard wanted to groan aloud… Reese wore only a button-down shirt. No shoes. No pants. No underwear. Only the shirt.

The moviegoing public had seen lots of Reese’s gorgeous face. Reese was the classic young hottie movie star. His complexion was beyond handsome, with a solid, square chin, snow-white teeth, a thin and sharp nose, and manly, glinting, ice cold blue eyes. Reese had really thick brown hair, which always looked good no matter how he cut it.

Additionally, Reese’s smooth and chiseled body was also widely admired. Through lots and lots and lots of quality time in the gym, Reese had achieved bulging pectoral chest muscles, washboard abs, a tiny waist, enormous arms, and a really, really, really tight little butt. As Reese hadn’t buttoned his shirt, all of these parts of his anatomy were on display as he leapt about the bedroom.

“Oh, fuck me!” Howard swore, immediately slamming the bedroom’s double doors shut behind him. He rounded on the exhausted Khisa. “What the fuck’s wrong with him **_now?_** ”

“He was up all night,” Khisa said wearily, “trying mushrooms.”

Howard blinked, processing that information.

“From midnight until 4 AM, he did his extreme kickboxing workout,” Khisa reported, a dead quality in her voice. “Then he wanted to ride horses. When we couldn’t unlock the stables with a flamethrower, he decided to sample more mushrooms. Lots and lots of mushrooms.”

“Fucking A!” spat Howard, looking up at the wild-eyed Reese. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“I **_did_** call you, Mr. Howard,” Khisa shot back. “In fact, I called all three of your cell phones. Plus your answering service. Why didn’t you pick up?”

Howard bit his tongue. Yes, he’d seen the frantic messages from Khisa. He’d just assumed she was overreacting.

Reese leapt up onto the four poster bed like an Olympic jumper. He frantically paced up and down the mattress, furiously arguing with… someone.

“Reese, buddy?” Howard coaxed.

“…and then, we’ll have to find something else for you,” Reese ranted into the air. “Something else, yeah! You’d like that won’t you?” He cocked his head to one side, listening. “Oh, **_really?_** Are you serious? Fuck you, man! Fuck you!”

“Who’s he arguing with?” Howard asked, dreading the answer.

“His penis,” Khisa said in a dead voice. “He’s been arguing with his penis for the last three hours.”

“ ** _He has a name, you know!_** ” Reese bellowed at Howard and Khisa. The movie star’s eyes were blazing. He gestured at his dangling cock. “His name is Mr. Schlack! **_Mr. Schlack!!!_** ”

“Hey there, Reese buddy,” Howard said brightly.

“Mr. Schlack!” Reese demanded. “He’s pissed at you. You didn’t say hello.”

Screwing on a tortured smile, Howard choked out, “Hello, Mr. Schlack. Er, how are you?”

Reese turned away, immediately returning to his frenzied pacing and mumbling.

“Oh, fucking Christ,” seethed Howard. “He has to start shooting Danger Skies 3 in a month! What the fuck are we going to do?”

“All I know,” Khisa snarled, “is that I didn’t major in Feminist English Literature at Oxford for this. You talk him down, or so help me, I’ll sack myself.”

“Fucking A, fucking A, fucking A…” Howard muttered, thinking quickly. “Hey, Reese? Reese buddy? Can I talk with ya?”

Reese looked indignant. “And Mr. Schlack!”

“Sure, sure, and Mr. Schlack,” Howard assured him in a sugary voice. “Com’on down. Please?”

Reese hesitated, swaying on his feet in an alarming way. Then he leapt into the air, landing on both feet just before his gay manager.

“Jesus Christ!” yelped Howard, clutching his chest.

“Ohhhhh, man,” Reese frowned, grabbing Howard’s face with both hands. “You got this purple aura, man. Purple. You know what that means?”

“That I’m a genius and I’ve got good news,” Howard said hurriedly. “Lissen, Reese buddy. You remember how you wanted to…” He paused, sniffing. “… fuck, what is that **_smell???_** ”

“Yak urine,” Khisa replied, rubbing her temple. “He went online and ordered fifty gallons of purified yak urine. Now he bathes in it.”

“Ooooooookay,” Howard grinned, trying not to inhale. “Lissen, Reese baby, you wanted to go to parties, right? Well, your brilliant manager is bringing you a way to make that happen!”

“Who’s that?” Reese wanted to know.

Howard’s smile melted. “Me! Me, Reese baby! I’m your brilliant manager!”

Reese pushed Howard’s cheeks together, forcing Howard’s lips into a kissy face. “You look like a fish,” he smirked. “Blub, blub, blub, blub…”

Howard gently but firmly freed himself. “Reese baby, please listen, eh?”

The movie star nodded. “Yeah, man, sorry. I’ve been…” He made a wild gesture. “You know?”

“I know, baby, I know,” Howard desperately assured him. “Listen, I’ve just found-“

“You know who would be cool to play in a movie?” Reese rambled on, his eyes becoming unfocused. “Thor. The Mighty Thor. Yeah, I wanna be Thor…”

Inside, Howard swore. Marvel Studios had offered the part of Thor to Reese, only for Reese to turn them down, quite publicly. Some nobody named _Chris Hemsworth_ had snagged the part.

So Howard merely lied, “Sure, Reese baby, we’ll look into that.”

“I wanna be Thor…” Reese mumbled sadly.

In exasperation, Howard blurted out, “Reese babe, listen to me! I’ve just signed you **_a new girlfriend!_** She’s hot! Real hot! Look!”

Working furiously, the manager dug through his briefcase. He yanked out Angie’s headshots, bikini photos, and a collage of her bodybuilding poses.

Reese stared blankly at all the photos. Mr. Schlack immediately rose and stood at full attention. Khisa gagged and turned away.

“There, you see?” Howard said with some relief. “See? She’s all signed, she has to accompany you wherever you go. So, hey, if you want to go to a nice party, she’ll be on your arm.”

Reese dropped all but one of the photos, Angie’s prettiest headshot. The movie star scratched himself as he gazed at Angie’s radiant beauty.

“Remember, Reese, we talked about this?” Howard said eagerly. “If you go to parties with a nice lady, the studio people will think you are a nice, regular boy.”

“Can I lick her eyeballs?” Reese asked hopefully.

“No! Ew, no!” replied Howard. “No, you can’t touch her! Just let her be your girlfriend-in-public! Okay, Reese baby?”

“Awww…” the movie star pouted. His erection began to sag.

“ ** _Okay?_** ” Howard said firmly.

“Yeah, yeah,” replied Reese, climbing back onto the bed. “I got it! I’ll take her out now! We’ll go to the Collier show!” He nodded contentedly, lovingly tracing a finger over Angie’s smiling picture. “Yeah, the Collier show…”

“What’s that?” Howard said in a stage whisper to Khisa.

“Fusion businessware/string bikini fashion show,” Khisa moaned. “They’ll be lots of people there. Can you cancel his tickets?”

“Reese has to go!’ Howard almost shrieked. “All of Hollywood will be watching! If he wigs out, the studio heads’ll get suspicious that…”

“What?” scowled Khisa. “That Reese is absolutely raving bonkers?” She snorted. “Who could possibly think that?”

Howard watched his star client in horror. Reese was twitching, more than a little. He was also calmly eating Angie’s photograph.

“Can your girl make it look like she’s into **_that?_** ” Khisa asked darkly, gesturing to Reese. “’Cause no sane woman would want to spend sixty seconds on the arm of this train wreck. I don’t care how hot he is.”

“This is why we hire all of Reese’s girlfriends,” Howard said defensively.

“I’ve decided!” the move star announced loudly. “I’m taking blondie chick to Collier’s! It’s a brilliant idea!”

“Yeah, brilliant,” Khisa agreed, not mustering much enthusiasm.

“Listen, listen, Reese baby!” said Howard, praying his words were penetrating Reese’s skull. “You can take the girl! But no sex, get me? No sex! The blonde is there for show, not for fucking! Get me?!?”

Reese stared at his manager. “No fucking?”

“No fucking,” Howard repeated firmly. “Mr. Schlack has to stay **_in the pants._** ”

“Fine,” said Reese with regal pride. “Only he’s not named Mr. Schlack any more. He’s now called Dinky McSquirt-Squirt.”

“…fine,” was all Howard could manage.

***** *****

By the time Howard had returned to his Porsche, he was on the verge of a nervous collapse.

Reese was **_fucking insane!_** Sure, Howard’s only client had been eccentric in the past. Right before Danger Skies went big, Reese had adopted a diet where he only ate wheat germ, raw eggs, and Brazilian peppers. And then he had refused to work on a Tuesday, citing vague religious convictions. And then, while researching the lead role for Alien Destructors, he’d become manically convinced that aliens **_really had landed_** , and were controlling the Frozen Yogurt industry. His weirdness knew no rational boundaries.

But now… Now Howard’s cash cow client had really jumped headfirst into the deep end of the Crazy Pool.

Cursing his luck, Howard yanked open his glove compartment. His trembling fingers found a small vial of white powder, and he eagerly bit off the cork, then snorted all of the contents. Instantly, a cooling, popping sensation filled his brain, and he gratefully sank back into his car’s leather seats.

The wise powder would give him guidance. She’d never failed him before.

 _Okay,_ Howard thought, _what the fuck do I do?_

After a few moments of chemically-enhanced rumination, it occurred to Howard that the task before him was simple. What had to happen? Just three things:

(A) Reese and the blonde girlfriend had to be seen entering the Collier show

(B) Reese and the blonde girlfriend had to sit in Reese’s private box during the show

(C) Reese and the blonde girlfriend had to be seen leaving the Collier show

Upon reflection, the problem boiled down to the entrance and exit. If Reese could just look semi-normal for that, perhaps… perhaps Reese Tarentan Inc. could get through the next twenty-four hours.

An idea bloomed in Howard’s head. He rubbed his jaw, thought a bit, then decided, _fuck it_. He fumbled for his cell phone.

After clumsily scrolling through his contact list and calling several wrong numbers, Howard finally placed the call he needed.

“ _’ello?_ ” a sleepy woman in a thick Jamaican accent said on the other end of the line.

“Cashie!” Howard exclaimed. “Cashie, how you doin’?”

“ _Fine, mon,_ ” grunted Aayla “Cashie” Brown, then audibly yawned. “ _Ugh._ _Listen, its early. Whatcha need?_ ”

Howard glanced at his dashboard clock. It was 1:03 in the afternoon.

Like Howard, Cashie was a talent manager. She shepherded most of Las Vegas’s top acts, and several lesser performers to boot.

“I gotta call in a favor, Cashie,” Howard said firmly.

“ _Oh, brudder…_ ” Howard could hear Cashie stumble out of bed. “ _Eh, how big a favor?_ ”

“Eh… not too big,” lied Howard.

“ _Uh-huh._ ” Cashie sounded mighty skeptical. “ _Maybee you tell me whatcha need, and den I tell you how big the favor is._ ”

“I need a hypnotist,” Howard replied.

“ _Hmmgh,_ ” said Cashie. “ _Okay. You want Glenn Hooper, mon? He’s da one who did that show for the Teen Talent reality show. Convinced all dem kids that they were actually talented. Heh._ ”

“No, no, not him,” scowled Howard. “I want the guy who can totally zap a person’s mind and make them a friggin’ puppet zombie. You know, I want the dude who does those X-Rated Vegas shows. Mesmerizes the tourists into thinking they’re porn stars, and then they really hump each other while up on stage.”

“ _Oh,_ ” Cashie said, surprised. “ _Ya mean Dr. Sleepslave?_ ”

“That’s the guy,” grinned Howard, feeling confident.

“ _Huh,_ ” Cashie reflected. “ _Well, I’m sure he’s available. Da bum works maybee twice a week. Lazy jerk._ ”

Howard rubbed one nostril. “Great. I need him in six hours.”

“ _Say whaaaaaaaat?_ ” demanded Cashie. “ _Whatcha got, mon, a hypnotist emergency?_ ”

“Sort of,” Howard admitted. “You, ah, know my client, right?”

Cashie was an entertainment industry insider. She heard the wild Reese Tarentan stories.

“ _Whoooooo boy, dat Reese Baby is one hot piece ‘o ass, but dem boy is crazy!_ ” the Jamaican talent manager laughed. “ _Why, I heard he bought_ **‘n then lost** _a forty foot yacht! How da hell does you lose a yacht, mon?_ ”

“He, uh…” Howard decided not to explain that one. “Look, between us, Reese is having some extra trouble keeping it together. And tonight, I just need him to appear with a hot blonde on his arm. I’ve already hired the blonde. I just need Reese to charm her, then to appear in public with her long enough to be photographed.”

“ _So you wanna hypnotize Reese t’behave himself?_ ”

“That would work, right?” Howard said hopefully. “I mean, we could dazzle Reese, put him in a trance or whatever, and he’d be a good little boy when we need him to act sane?”

“ _Naw, that won’t work, mon,_ ” Cashie said contemptuously. “ _Well, ya might bamboozle Reese once, maybee twice. But da thing is, deep down, Reese knows he’s the boss. Pretty soon, he’d realize what was goin’ on. And den you’d be out on da street._ ”

Howard felt sick to his stomach.

“ _Dis blonde girl,_ ” Cashie said, curious, “ _she got big tits?_ ”

“Grapefruits,” replied Howard.

“ _She hot?_ ”

“Scorching,” Howard said. “Why?”

“ _So here’s whatcha do, mon,_ ” Cashie instructed. “ _Dress up the dumb bimbo in a low-cut, see-through party dress, no panties. Den have Sleepslave mesmerize her. Make her dink that Reese farts sunshine. Dat everythin’ he does is wonderful. Dat way, the paparazzi will take maybee three snaps of your boy, ‘n spend da rest of the time photographin’ her cleavage and her makin’ lovey eyes at Reese. Hypnotize her to distract them._ ”

Something like hope began to dawn within Howard’s chest. “That… could work?”

“ _Oh, sure._ ” Cashie yawned again. “ _You hired dis girl with Reese’s usual COG contract?_ ”

“You know me too well, Cashie,” Howard said dryly.

“ _So she’s got no power in dis situation, mon. Let Sleepslave zonk her out, and den convince her dat Reese is da most wonderful dude on Earth. You home free, mon._ ”

Howard’s heart flooded with relief. “Fuck me, Cashie, you’re a genius,” he laughed aloud. “Okay, can you get your man to LA before six o’clock tonight?”

“ _It ain’t gonna be cheap,_ ” warned Cashie. “ _I’ll bill ya._ ”

Normally, “ _I’ll bill you”_ are the three most feared words in the Entertainment Industry. But Howard didn’t care. He’d pass Cashie’s outrageous fee on to Reese.

“Sure,” chortled Howard. “Sure, sounds great. Thanks, Cashie.”

He hung up, only to realize there were a pair of chimpanzees on the hood of his car, watching him with interest.

“What?” Howard scowled at the curious primates. “You apes got a better idea?”

The chimps didn’t say.

***** *****


	3. Just Make Her Love Reese

Santa Monica Place was a new shopping mall out by Studio City, the neighborhood for Hollywood’s starving actors. Angie liked this mall. It was inviting, well-designed, tasteful, and reasonably-priced. Better yet, it was on her way home from the gym.

Because she’d finished her cardio workout early _,_ set a new personal record with her squat routine, **_and_** signed a lucrative contract to be Reese Tarentan’s girlfriend… whatever that meant… Angie was in the mood to celebrate. Things were looking up! She wandered freely through the mall, wondering what she was in the mood to buy.

Angie wandered past a CVS, momentarily tempted to allow herself maybe just one celebratory Hoho? After all, a tiny break from her diet couldn’t hurt… right?

No. She couldn’t cheat. The life of a bodybuilder/model/actress didn’t allow for any cheating. _This was the life I chose_ , Angie firmly reminded herself. She steered herself toward Forever 21.

Truth be told, the life of a competitive bodybuilder and fitness model didn’t allow for much downtime, either. She spent her time shuttling between photoshoots, auditions, and workouts. Consequently, most of Angie’s wardrobe was exercise clothes and then just blue jeans and plain tee shirts, the outfits one wore to auditions. At lot of what she spotted at Forever 21 seemed trite and impractical. Angie frowned at the dresses and silk blouses on the racks. _When would I even wear this stuff?_ she thought idly.

As the beautiful actress was drifting towards Accessories, her ears caught a familiar voice. Someone she knew was in the store!

“…so why do men do that?” a young woman was exclaiming in frustration. “Seriously, can you explain that to me? Why does a guy say he’ll call you **_and then not call you?_** ”

“I know, I know, I know,” agreed another woman.

Angie spun about in her sneakers. There, two racks over, was Heather Wemberly and Julie Strank! Angie grinned. She’d been in high school with Heather and Julie! Man, it was good to see the girls again! They hadn’t crossed paths since… graduation?

“Heather! Julie!” Angie called out eagerly. “Hey guys!”

Heather and Julie turned, and their smiles fell. “Oh,” Heather said. “Angie. Hi.”

The three women stared at one another. Heather and Julie’s eyes zipped over Angie, noting her tight, trim figure, her model-quality haircut, and her lotion-treated skin. They exchanged a quick look, then faked enthusiastic smiles.

“Angie,” said Heather. “How nice to see you.” She did not appear thrilled.

“Yeah, so nice!” Angie agreed. “You ladies look great.”

“Angie, isn’t it true that you were Miss Butt of Something?” Julie asked, her eyes narrowing. “Like, you won a Butt Contest, or whatever?”

Angie could sense Julie’s resentment and venom. “I, uh, was Butt Mascot of Sky Blue Suntan Lotion,” she admitted.

“Oh, yeah, right,” sniffed Julie. “That’s the cheapo suntan lotion. I wouldn’t use that slop on a dare.”

Heather cracked a snide grin.

“Um, okay,” Angie said, trying to shrug off the barb. “Listen, I’m not doing anything. You ladies maybe want to grab a coffee…?”

“Oh gosh,” Heather declared, quickly looking at her watch. “Oh, no. Sorry, Ange. We’re, um, late for meeting our boyfriends. You don’t want to be a fifth wheel.”

Disappointed, Angie simply nodded. “Right.”

“I’ll text you, though,” Heather promised airily. “Gotta fly, baby.”

The women exchanged quick air-hugs, and then Heather and Julie scampered off, almost eagerly. Angie watched them flee. She felt alone.

When Angie had started down the path of competitive bodybuilding, modeling, and then acting, no-one had warned her that it would be a lonely journey. The first thing that happened was her social life evaporated. Other women resented Angie’s beauty and alluring figure. Men wanted to be with her, sure, but they only wanted to get her in the sack. Everyone only saw her as sexy, an actual human being second. Coupled with the time she spent traveling, doing shoots, or working out, Angie had extremely little human contact. Hell, ever since her crabby foster mom had died, Angie doubted she received more than one personal phone call a week.

The young woman felt her cell phone vibe in her purse. She frowned and pulled out the little device. The Caller ID said: **_C PURNANSKI_**.

Sighing, Angie picked up. “’lo?” she said.

“ _Angie, baby!_ ” Christine’s rusty voice almost sang. “ _Christine Purnanski here. You ready for greatness? Reese’s people called. They love you. Love you!_ ”

“Oh. That’s nice,” replied Angie, surprised.

“ _In fact, they love so so so so much, they’re putting you to work. You’re going on girlfriend duty tonight!_ ”

Angie almost dropped her purse. “Tonight?”

Christ, she’d only signed the Contractually Obligated Girlfriend paperwork that morning!

“ _Reese’s people want you available in an hour. Where you at?_ ”

“Studio City, at the mall,” Angie said.

“ _Well, get home, sweetheart,_ ” ordered the Va-Va-Voom agent. ” _Reese’s people are gonna send a car to pick you up at your apartment. Apparently you and Reese going to a show, or something._ ” Her tone curdled. “ _You lucky tramp. I’d give a kidney and a spleen to go on that date._ ”

“Some kind of show, huh?” Angie smiled, pleased. She started browsing through a rack of party dresses. “Well, I can pick something up to wear. Do you know if we’re going to the theatre or-“

“ _No, no, no, you don’t get it, kid. You’re gonna be photographed, like, a lot. So Reese is supplying your dress, your makeup, your shoes, your jewelry for tonight. They say you’ve gotta look beyond stunning. So Reese’s got a whole army of beauticians, stylists, and dressmakers waiting for you._ ”

Angie’s thin eyebrows rose. “Seriously?”

“ _Yes!_ ” Christine almost yowled. “ _Now, get home!_ ”

“Okay, okay,” said the young actress. She tore herself away from the dress rack. “So, did you speak to Reese about this…?”

“ _Reese himself?”_ Christine snorted. “ _I wish. Naw, his manager, that Dexter Howard guy, called and left instructions. That Howard guy is a real prick, superbossy. But he knows what he wants for his client._ ”

“Okay, then,” Angie said simply. “I’m leaving for home now.”

“ _Oh, sweetie baby,_ ” gushed Christine, becoming misty again. “ _This is gonna be such a big thing for me. Er, I mean you._ ”

“I hope you’re right,” Angie replied. “I gotta admit: I’m curious to meet my new boyfriend.”

“ _Just let me know all the sick, juicy, twisted gossip,_ ” instructed Christine, positively gleeful.

***** *****

“Awwww man,” Dr. Sleepslave grumbled, then glared at his watch again. “When’s this broad supposed to be ready?”

“Calm down,” ordered Dexter Howard. “The fashion and makeup people are nearly done with her. Then, she’s all yours.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah,” the hypnotist rumbled.

It now was perhaps 9 PM in the evening, and the two men were in a small lounge within Reese’s mansion. Howard noticed that Sleepslave’s fingers liked to reach for Reese’s knickknacks, so he’d decided to watch the hypnotist closely. The mood between the two men was frosty.

Sleepslave grunted with displeasure, then looked at his watch. Again.

Dr. Fredrick Von Sleepslave (actual name: Dennis J. Futz) was one piece of work. This middle-aged, balding and potbellied man was one of the lowest bottom-feeders of the entertainment world. He performed a sleazy Off-the-Strip Vegas show called “ _Sexnosis: The Sensation!_ ” which you will not find listed in the reputable Vegas Tourbooks.

Sleepslave was genuinely talented. Within ten minutes, he could entrance his volunteers – and a few unsuspecting audience members – into dancing about on stage, shedding their clothes, and then performing all sorts of explicit acts which were definitely unsuitable for their Facebook feeds. Sleepslave could mesmerize the uptight housewife into becoming a slutty sex goddess or entrance the nervous accountant into bellowing, “I AM KROM, BEHOLD MY MIGHTY COCK,” and then actually whipping out said mighty cock for all to see. Had he been disciplined, more ambitious, and cleaned up his act a little, Sleepslave could have made millions on the international stage.

But the hypnotist was lazy, and hopelessly addicted to porn. Even though he regularly watched hypnotized people get naked to earn his living, Sleepslave could not get enough of nude breasts, butts, legs, cocks, vaginas, and orgasm-spasming faces.

Why, that very evening, Sleepslave was **_supposed_** to be in Burbank, helping to shoot a D-Grade XXX feature called HypnoSluts 5: The Sluttening. It had been a dream come true; Sleepslave was supposed to hypnotize the surgically-enhanced cast of HypnoSluts, then watch them perform! Live! But Cashie, his pushy talent agent, had brow-beat him into taking the Reese Tarentan job. So here he was.

If he was lucky, Sleepslave could mesmerize Reese’s hired girlfriend, feed her Dexter Howard’s bullshit commands, and then high-tail it to the porn studio. There still might be time.

Howard’s phone buzzed with a new text. “Okay, the girl’s ready,” he announced. “You’re all set to hypnotize her?”

“Yeah, yeah,” frowned Sleepslave.

“Remember,” Howard said, raising one warning finger, “you’re gonna only command the girl to do what we agreed upon. No peaking at her tits or compelling her suck you off. Got it?”

“Sure, man,” shrugged the hypnotist. “Let’s get this over with?”

Howard flashed an annoyed look, but he didn’t retort. Instead, he texted back on his phone, then folded his arms.

The door opened, and Angie Winters appeared. “So, do I look okay?” she asked anxiously.

Sleepslave’s eyes nearly popped from their sockets. The young lady standing in the doorway was easily the most breathtaking woman he’d seen all year! And Sleepslave made a point to ogle every last Vegas showgirl.

Angie was a vision, nothing less than a fantasy woman brought to life by the male gods of lust. Her gorgeous face was painted with **_just enough_** makeup, making her soft blue eyes seem large and dazzling. Angie’s hairdo was elaborate, a delicate flowing river of blonde gold that playfully tumbled down her thin neck before twisting into wavy curves. Her lips were bright red, and it melted your heart to see her smile.

But it was Angie’s trim but svelte body which captured Sleepslave’s wicked imagination. She wore a skin-hugging, shimmering blue minidress which left her muscled arms and legs completely bare. The dress’s neckline plunged to display round, well-set breasts, which bounced a little as she moved. Curvy hips and a tight rear end were closely swaddled, but you could tell Angie’s stomach was smooth and toned. Matching three inch heels completed the outfit. This woman looked like a goddess of raw sex and desire.

Sleepslave could not stop staring. In a flash, he’d completely forgotten about the DD ladies of HypnoSluts 5.

“You look fabulous, really fabulous,” Howard carelessly told Angie, completely oblivious to her siren-like charms. “Listen, honey, there’s one more thing we hafta to do before you meet Reese, okay? Sit here.”

The young woman scooted to a plush easy chair, wobblingly slightly on her tall heels. Sleepslave found himself staring at her firm, round tush in the few seconds before she sat.

 _I know I’ve seen that butt before!_ the hypnotist thought. His porn-laced brain was a virtual encyclopedia of women’s chests and rear ends.

“Now, Angie, this is Mr. Lutz, Reese’s, er, mind-body connection specialist,” Howard explained to the bewildered young actress. “He’s gonna… eh, well, talk with you.”

“That’s right,” Sleepslave said, assuming control. “How you feelin’, dear?”

“Fine,” Angie shrugged. “Little nervous.”

“Oh, that’s understandable,” assured Sleepslave. His hand dipped into his jacket pocket, and drew out a sparkling crystal, suspended on a long, golden chain. “Can I share a meditation technique that I use on Reese all the time?” he crooned.

“Uh, sure.”

“Excellent,” Sleepslave grinned, raising the crystal to Angie’s eyeline. “Look within this, dear, and relax. Relax. Relax completely.” The crystal started to swing back and forth.

Angie was puzzled. “Are you trying to-“

“Shh,” cautioned the older man. “Relax, dear. Just relax. If you allow yourself to relax just a little, you’ll find that all the muscles in your body will want to relax even deeper. Relax…”

And then Sleepslave launched into an ever-flowing monologue of words, words of soothing, words of peace, words of forgetfulness. Angie followed along, confused but unresisting. And after a time, her thoughts seemed to disconnect. Her face lost expression. She felt physically heavy. Her eyelids closed all by themselves.

Sleepslave droned on, convincing the young woman that she was resting atop of cloud of perfect relaxation. Angie felt her every muscle disengage. She lost track of time, of the universe, or even who she was. Sleepslave’s voice filled her mind, compelling her to relax even deeper.

She was in his power.

***** *****

“There,” Sleepslave grinned. He straightened and stretched his back. “She’s under.”

Howard stared at the motionless Angie. The beautiful young actress sat completely motionless, save for her chest gently pushing against her dress as she breathed. Her expression was completely blank.

“She’s… asleep?” Howard asked stupidly.

“She’s hypnotized,” boasted Sleepslave. “She’s deeply, deeply hypnotized. She’ll do or believe anything I want now. She’d believe that she’s a cocker spaniel, if I commanded it.”

“Don’t get carried away,” warned Howard. “Just make her love Reese. No matter what.”

“Sure, sure,” the hypnotist promised. “Hey, I know you’re busy. You, ah, you can go off and take care of the other arrangements for the evening. I can handle Little Miss Girlfriend here.”

“Um, no,” frowned Howard. “There’s no way I’m leaving you alone with this girl. No fucking way. Do your stuff, and then you’ll get your paycheck. Now hurry the fuck up, Reese has got to be at the show in a half hour.”

“Fine,” Sleepslave pouted.

The hypnotist leaned over his subject once more. As he spoke, his greedy eyes wandered down to admire Angie’s ample chest. “And now, my dear,” he instructed, “I will awaken you in a just moment. And when you next open your eyes, you will remember nothing of what has happened in this room. You’ll completely forget ever meeting me, and consciously remember none of the instructions I am putting into your mind.

“For tonight, you are absolutely dazzled by Reese Tarentan. Everything Reese does – no matter how outlandish, no matter how unconventional, no matter how unexpected, or no matter how just plain weird – everything Reese does will be both fascinating and sexy to you. You will be absolutely delighted to be Reese’s girlfriend. Nothing can shake that conviction.”

“Good,” Howard murmured under his breath. “Now, the second part.”

“Furthermore,” continued Sleepslave, “whenever you and Reese have to be in public, you will be outgoing and filled with laughter. You will flirt and carry on. You will be loud and boisterous. You will be a dumb bimbo. You will do whatever you can to keep the paparazzi cameras on you. You will be happy to upstage Reese if you can. You will not be consciously aware of doing so, but it is important that you distract the media as much as possible.”

“Nice,” nodded Howard. “Yeah, nice. Okay, that’ll do. Snap her out of it, and we’ll get this show on the road.” He moved to snap his fingers before Angie’s face.

“Wait!” Sleepslave was alarmed. “No, mac, I have to reenforce these suggestions! Otherwise, she might reject them. Whenever you hypnotize someone, you have to make sure your instructions are locked in.”

“Ugh,” Howard rolled his eyes. “Fine. How much longer?”

Sleepslave shrugged. “I dunno… Another ten to twenty minutes, depending on how she responds.”

“Christ Almighty,” Reese’s manager growled, glancing at his watch. “Ten to twenty…? Fine. Fine. Do it. But hurry.”

“Ya can’t rush art,” bristled Sleepslave.

Howard wanted to argue, but held his tongue.

“Now, dear…” Sleepslave coo’ed, turning his powers once again on Angie. He prattled on, cementing the irresistible tapestry of commands within her mind.

Howard watched impatiently, privately seething. The Collier show was opening the red carpet now. Reese was a huge star, and of course Lilly Collier would hold the opening of her show for him. But even Reese could only be so late. If he missed the opening, all of this probably was for naught.

The manager’s cell phone buzzed. He glanced at the little device, and his heart thudded. The caller ID screen said: **_MACINTYRE_**.

“Oh shit!” Howard breathed, then scooped up the call. “Eh, hello?” he said cheerfully.

Sleepslave waved angrily, indicating that Howard’s conversation might be disrupting Angie’s concentration.

The celebrity manager swore to himself, but quickly slipped out of the lounge.

***** *****

Once outside in the hallway, Howard said, “Hello Magnus!”

Magnus Macintyre, Senior Chairman of the Spirit Image Award Committee, was in no mood for schmoozing. “ _Evenin’, Dex,_ ” he said gruffly. “ _Look, we gotta talk._ ”

“Sure,” Howard said gaily, hoping he sounded relaxed. Inside, his heart was racing.

“ _Listen,_ ” huffed Macintyre. “ _So here’s the situation:_ _The Spirit voters love Reese. They love him. He was just gangbusters in that last movie of his, uh, The Acapulco… er…_”

“The Apocalypse Planet,” Howard supplied.

“ _Yeah, yeah, that one,_ ” said Macintyre without much passion. “ _Laughed my ass off. Very funny._ ”

Of course, The Apocalypse Planet was a gritty science-fiction horror story… but this was not the time to quibble. Howard forced a chuckle himself.

“ _So Reese is probably a lock on Best Spirit Actor of 2010,_ ” went on Macintyre. “ _Probably._ ”

Howard’s breath caught. “I thought… Reese had Best Actor in the bag!”

“ _Well, here’s the thing, Dex. A lot of the Spirit people read the National Enquirer. They saw that story about how Reese took off his clothes on the Dubai beach and was chased by the police._”

“That piece of shit story was a total lie!” Howard half-cried.

(Reese had gone nakey in a Dubai **_shopping mall_** , not a beach. It had taken weeks of bribes to clean up that media nightmare.)

“These tabloid reporters,” ranted Howard, “they just make up anything! Anything! If Reese drops a fork while out at dinner, they write about how he must have cerebral palsy. Its so fucking unfair.”

“ _Yeah,_ ” Macintyre drawled, sounding nonplused. “ _Yeah, you’re probably right._ ”

Howard swallowed, then ventured, “So… Reese is still getting the Best Actor Spirit?”

Macintyre didn’t reply right away. Howard listened in dread, his heart pounding like a kettle drum.

“ _Here’s the thing,_ ” Macintyre finally said. “ _The Spirit honchos, they like Reese. The like him. They just don’t want to give Reese the award, and then watch him go Looney Tunes at the awards show. Get me?_ ”

“They have nothing to worry about,” insisted Howard.

“ _I dunno, Dex. The rumors about Reese… they’re pretty out there. He sounds more cuckoopants than Johnny Depp, Shia LeBeouf, and Mel Gibson combined._ ”

Howard rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Reese is fine. He goes out on the town all the time and shows the world what a totally normal human being he is. But you don’t hear about those outings in the Enquirer, do you?”

Macintyre prodded, “ _Well, you got any of those events on the calendar? Something the Spirit honchos could see?_ ”

Howard’s back was to the wall. He had to go for broke. “Sure! Why, Reese is attending the Lilly Collier show tonight,” he found himself bragging. ”He’s excited to go! Watch him, ‘cause that’s what the world will see at the Spirits.”

“ _Really?_ ” asked Macintyre, interested. “ _The Collier show?_ _Well, that might persuade some skeptics._ ” He thought for a moment. “ _Hmm, okay. Reese going to fashion shows, that’s good press. The Spirit people will like that. I’ll pass this tidbit on._ ”

“Great!” Howard said, through a very forced smile.

“ _Look, between me ‘n you,_ ” Macintyre said in a conspiratorial tone, “ _the best thing Reese can do for his image is just to be seen out and about LA, you know? That’s it._ ”

“Yeah, sure,” Howard mumbled.

“ _Okay, Dex,_ ” harumphed Macintyre. “ _You hear what I’m sayin’._ _Good to speak with’cha._ _I’ll be in touch._ ” And he hung up.

Howard collapsed against the wall, dropping his phone and holding his head with both hands. _Omigod,_ he thought forlornly, _why didn’t I listen to Mom and go to law school???_

***** *****

Back in the lounge, Sleepslave was finishing his work inside Angie’s mind. She would carry out her commands, of that he was sure. And when she obeyed him, she wouldn’t have the slightest inkling that she was not in control of her own thoughts.

The power he wielded over Angie made Sleepslave aroused. It was torture, sheer torture, to gaze at those peach-cream colored breasts, and not be able to touch them. To suck on them. To command Angie to rip out of her dress and prance around the room, singing, “ _I love being hypnotized, Master! Ha ha ha! Now, can you cum in my butt?_ ”

How long was Dexter Howard going to be out of the room? Sleepslave licked his lips, wresting between lust and practical logic. It was so tempting to think: He could command Angie to unveil her tits! Or bend over so he could feel her ass cheeks! Or…

No. No, with his rotten luck, Sleepslave would compel Angie to show him one solitary nipple, and **_that’s_** when Howard would charge back into the room. And then, _good-bye paycheck!_

Goddamnit.

But…

If Sleepslave couldn’t enjoy his hypnotized conquest, there was no reason he couldn’t vicariously enjoy her. Through Reese Tarentan.

“Listen carefully, Angie,” the hypnotist commanded. “Later this evening, while attending the fashion show, you will find yourself completely alone with Reese, your awesome boyfriend. When you are certain his nosey managers cannot see you, you will suddenly feel horny. Very horny. You will have the uncontrollable urge to…”

Sleepslave paused, considering. What sex act would be the most satisfying to compel upon Angie? Blow job? Rim job? Hand job? Vaginal sex? Anal sex? All of the Above?

The pervert cycled through the entire sex catalog, choosing.

“You will have the uncontrollable urge **_to fuck Reese doggie style_** ,” the hypnotist whispered. “You will want Reese to enter you, from behind! And then, after that, you will want to fuck Reese again! For as long as you are alone with Reese at the show, you will want him to pound you like a hammer!”

Yeah, that was hot. So hot. In his mind, Sleepslave was directing a porno starring Angie and the world’s hottest male movie star. The possibilities seemed endless! What else could he command Angie to do? Go anal? Do a striptease? Sixty-nine?

No, Sleepslave had to wrap this debauchery up. Dexter Howard could reenter the room at any time.

“So now, I will count from one to five,” Sleepslave intoned. “When I reach five, you will be wide awake, remembering nothing, but compelled to obey every instruction I’ve woven into your mind. You cannot resist!”

He took a deep breath. “Now: One…”

***** *****

Sweating from stress, Howard re-entered the lounge. When he stepped inside, Angie was sitting up, blinking absently and wiping her eyes. She looked dazed.

“You’re done?” Howard said, surprised.

“Completely,” grinned Sleepslave. “I, uh, just gave Angie here some meditation pointers. That’s all.” He winked.

Angie tilted her head to one side. “I’m not sure it had any effect…” she mumbled.

“Oh, you did fine,” Sleepslave assured her.

“Okay, great, we gotta go,” snapped Howard. “Com’on, chick.” He gestured determinedly.

So Angie climbed to her feet and allowed herself to be hustled out the door. As she departed, Sleepslave stared at her rear end until she was gone.

Once Angie and Howard had vanished, the hypnotist slapped his own forehead. “Holy shit…!” he exclaimed aloud. “I just hypnotized Sky Blue Suntan Lotion’s Official Butt Mascot??? Goddamn!”

***** *****

Still feeling unusually spacey, Angie allowed Mr. Howard to lead her through the grand mansion. The two moved through a sequence of corridors, then arrived in a spacious garage. There were three Italian sports cars and five classic cars from the 1950’s here. All were in pristine condition.

But Angie, a devoted car lover, noticed none of these. Because standing outside the open garage was a long black limousine. And before the limo was none other than…

“Omigod!” Angie squealed, clapping both hands over her overjoyed mouth. “ ** _Reese Tarentan!_** Ahhh!!! Omigod, Omigod, Omigod!!!” She would have jumped up and down in excitement, if it wasn’t for her heels.

Reese was presentable. He wore a five-thousand dollar tuxedo, with a diamond tie pin and shining black shoes. His hair was neatly combed, but still retained its bad-boy spike. The handsome movie star had a bit of a five o’clock shadow, but hey… it looked sexy on him. He was Reese Tarentan, yo!

Of course, Khisa Beckenstone was standing right beside movie star, brushing lint off his shoulders. But the Englishwoman was completely invisible to Angie right now. In her starstruck eyes, Angie only Reese. Gorgeous Reese.

The hunky actor was gazing into space, absently pawing at the air in slow, lazy swipes. An open-mouthed grin was on his face.

Khisa made an exasperated face, then moved to stand by Howard.

“Ohhhhhhh God,” Howard groaned, staring at Reese. “What’s wrong with him **_now?_** ”

“He thinks he sees magic pixies flying about his head,” Khisa muttered back. She rubbed her temple. “I’ve decided to not worry.”

“This doesn’t worry you?” blustered Howard.

“Hey,” Khisa snarled. “The pixies keep him stationary and quiet! I can’t say the same for the hallucinated fire ants that were crawling up his arse earlier.”

“…ugh…” Reese drawled. His eyes were unfocused.

“Oh, oh, oh, isn’t he a **_dream?!?_** ” gushed Angie, flinging herself at Reese. She took his arm with pride and beamed. “Omigod, you guys, he’s like a girl’s fantasy come true! I’m sooooooooo happy! So happy!” She squealed in delight. “Yayyy…!”

Khisa’s eyebrows shot off her forehead. “Uh, ooookay,” she mumbled to Howard. “Where did you find this chick?”

Howard ignored her. He glanced at his watch, and his eyes bulged.

“Reese, baby, you gotta go!” he yelped. “The Collier show is starting! Go, go, go!”

“Don’t you worry, all!” Angie sang, still beaming from ear to ear. “I’ll get Reesey there! Let’s go, Snookums!” She giggled and kissed Reese on the cheek.

The movie star blinked, then seemed to notice Angie for the first time. He gaped at her beautiful face. “Are you a Muppet?” he asked, deathly serious.

“Com’on, Boopsie-Boo,” laughed Angie. She yanked at Reese’s arm, and pulled him into the limo’s back seat. He didn’t protest.

“She got him in the car,” Khisa remarked, stunned. “I can’t ever get him in the car. You don’t want to know what I went through to get him through the shower and then into that tuxedo.”

“Yeah, very nice, I noticed that he doesn’t smell like yak piss today.” Howard frowned. He pointed at the limo’s back seat. “Go with ‘em, will ya?”

The Englishwoman looked exasperated. “Me?”

“I gotta stay and manage the rapid-fire media response,” Howard growled back. “Now, go!”

So Khisa was bustled into the limo, despite her vehement protests. The limo driver put the car in gear, and they were off.

Inside the limo’s cabin, Angie glared at Khisa. “Hey, chick,” she said hotly, clutching Reese’s chest. “Keep away! Reese is my boyfriend!”

Khisa sighed and pulled out her smartphone. She started researching graduate schools.

***** *****


	4. The Late-Night Lilly Collier Fashion Show

As Reese had devolved from slightly-weird-crazy to massively-batshit-crazy, Howard and his staff had realized the need for aggressive media control. It wasn’t enough to simply laugh off reporters from Variety or Entertainment Weekly anymore. No, whenever a “ _Reese is going bananas_ ” story surfaced, whether it was true or not, Team Howard needed to be on top of the situation and be ready to aggressively swat it down.

To that end, Howard had commandeered the enormous mancave playroom in Reese’s basement. Out went the $100,000 entertainment center, the air hockey and pool tables, the vintage arcade video games, the piles of sports memorabilia, and the framed posters of all of Reese’s movies. Reese had forgotten about all that stuff, and it was doubtful he could find his own basement, anyway.

Once the room was cleared, Howard had supervised the construction of a state-of-the-art media rapid response room. Not even modern presidential campaigns had such a sophisticated telecom nerve center. The entire room had thirty-two flatscreen TVs mounted on the walls, each one with a dedicated computer station connected to it. There was an extensive phone bank, a media database, even a mini TV studio if Howard’s people had to video-dial into a talking heads show. The whole room looked like the Bridge of the Enterprise; the only thing that was missing was Captain Kirk’s chair.

Once Reese and his hypnotized girlfriend had departed, Howard had allowed himself a little chemical relief. Then, while his high was still buzzing but his mind was still clear, he strode into the Media Room. Five of his computer tech people immediately clicked off their video game tournament of Halo.

“Do we have the live feed yet?” Howard barked. He began pacing like a hungry tiger.

The geeks scrambled into action. All the TVs were switched to the major networks and cable channels. Working quickly, the geeks began furiously channel surfing.

As they labored, Delmont Dupree, Reese’s image manager, glided into the room. She was a tall, elegant lady of perhaps fifty years old. Howard and Delmont despised one another, but both had Reese’s confidence. So there was little one could do about the other.

“Reese is at the fashion show?” asked Delmont, her lip curling.

“We’re about to see,” Howard replied coolly.

“I really fucking hope you know what you’re doing,” the image consult growled under her breath. “If you fuck this up and my Reese is embarrassed, I swear, Dexy, I’ll see to it you’ll be managing the North Hollywood McDonald’s before midnight.”

Howard was about the retort when one of the geeks jumped to his feet. “Got it, sir!” he cried, brandishing a TV remote control. “Screen 14!”

All eyes locked onto that television. Howard grabbed the remote and stabbed buttons. TV 14’s audio feed jumped into the speakers; all the other TVs went mute.

The screen showed the exterior of the Downtown Majestic, LA’s swankiest hotel. The Majestic was decked out to the nines, with searchlights, glittering, nine-foot displays of women statues, and a wide red carpet, lined with hundreds of media photographers. About a thousand eager fans were just behind the press, screaming their heads off. And a light trickle of celebrities were wandering inside the hotel, graciously waving to the Common People.

The picture cut to a pair of beautifully-dressed women, each holding microphones, each smiling directly into the camera. These ladies were Donna Chambers and Bella Lancaster, LA’s two cattiest entertainment reporters. Donna and Bella were beloved by their audience for their sharp eyes for fashion, their quick ears for gossip, and their lethal wit for put-downs. They had the tender personalities of vultures.

“ _…aaaand we’re back,_ ” Donna glowed. “ _You’re watching live coverage of the late-night Lilly Collier fashion show, brought to you exclusively on LA TV 11!_ ” She smiled wider, showing her predatory teeth.

Bella picked right up. “ _We’re all a-twitter here at the LA Majestic, where I know you wish you could be,_ ” she trilled. “ _And the stars have come out tonight!_ ”

“ _Have they ever!_ ” Donna agreed, smirking. “ _Why, there’s Hanson Steele, the star of the popular Star Blasters film series!_”

“ _Hmmgh,_ ” scoffed Bella, unimpressed. “ _Steele was an A-lister, but did you see the returns on his last movie? Dreadful._ ”

“ _And it looks like Hanson’s date, starlet Ashley Dupris, has put on a little weiiiiight,_ ” Donna added, sing-song. “ _And what’s with her dress? Seriously. Discount rack at Target?_ ”

“ _Tsk-tsk,_ ” agreed Bella. “ _So tacky._ ”

“Oh, God,” Delmont moaned. “Howard, why did we think sending Reese to this was a good idea?”

“Reese insisted,” Howard reminded her. “Besides, the studio heads want him more visible. This was a more controlled environment.”

“Controlled?” Delmont almost shrieked. “You call this controlled?”

On the TV, the crowd went wild.

“ _Oh, look who’s just pulled up,_ ” Donna announced, tilting her head toward the street. “ _Why, I think…_ ”

Bella gasped. “ _Its Reese Tarentan! Oh, we haven’t seen him in a while!_ ” Her smile turned evil.

“Oh, God,” moaned Delmont. A flask of hard liquor appeared in her thin hand. She took a long swig.

The camera panned over, and now Howard could see Reese and Angie making their way down the red carpet. Reese held his head high, absently glancing in all directions. He wore a small, strange smile, as if toying with a private joke. But he did not acknowledge the cheering crowds.

But on Reese’s arm, Angie was beaming and waving enough for the both of them. The beautiful actress was laughing and blowing kisses, as if she’d never had so much fun in her life. Her tiny blue dress shimmered in the photographers’ popping flashes, making it seem that her luscious body was bathed in starlight.

Angie turned about to wave at the crowds. She used her eyes to flirt with men and her smile to make other women smile back. She laughed. She was radiant with life. The crowds loved her.

The optics were good, but… Howard’s eyes were locked on only Reese. “C’mon, buddy,” he implored, muttering. “Wave. Wave at your fans. Wave. Wave, Goddamnit.”

Reese didn’t wave.

“ _Oh my, oh my, oh my,_ ” Donna clucked in her usual snide way. “ _Prince Reese looks as sexy as ever. Am I wrong, ladies? All hail his Majesty!_ ”

“ _Yeah, but I hear Reesey boy’s having some proooOOOoooblems,_ ” Bella countered. “ _Like, his next movie might have to be shot in rehab, if you get my drift._ ”

“ _Hmm…_ ” Donna squinted. “ _Who is his date? And is it me… or does her ass look really familiar?_ ”

Reese and Angie were drawing close to the two vicious reporters. “ _Well, Los Angeles, let’s find out!_ ” declared Bella.

“Oh my God,” Delmont almost wailed. Without realizing it, Howard and Delmont held one another.

“ _Reesey, Reesey, Reesey!_ ” preened Donna. “ _Reesey, babe, can we get a word?_ ”

“ _Yeah,_ ” Bella seconded, “ _what is up with all the crazy rumors, Reese? You haven’t gone all cokehead on us, have you?_ ”

Reese cocked his head, staring at the two reporters. “ _Ha!_ ” he declared, “ _you don’t scare me! Now, fly off!_ ”

“Oh, God,” Howard said with dread. “He’s talking to the pixies!”

Delmont looked at him. “The what now?”

But then, Angie laughed, a musical, enticing sound. “ _Oh my gosh,_ ” she chortled, “ _my Reese is just so funny! I love him so much, don’t you?_ ”

“ _Your Reese?_ ” echoed Donna. “ _My, now. And who are you?_ ”

“ _Oh, I’m Reese’s girl,_ ” the young actress said proudly. She snuggled against Reese, and flashed another award-winning smile. “ _He’s just too perfect, isn’t he?_ ”

The cameraman, distracted, began a slow zoom-in on Angie’s wide, bouncing cleavage.

“ _What’s your name, girlfriend?_ ” Bella pressed.

“ _I’m Angie Winters,_ ” the blonde sighed happily. “ _Actress and fitness model. I was Miss Iron Buns 2008._ ”

“ _Iron Buns?_ ” Donna howled.

“ _Yeah, it isn’t the most glamorous start to a career,_ ” Angie laughed. “ _But, hey, Arnold Schwarzenegger started as a bodybuilder, and where is he now? He’s our governor._ ”

“ _Your magic is awesome!_ ” Reese cried out, still yelling at the pixies.

“ _No, baby,_ ” Angie teased him. “ **Our** _magic is awesome._ ” She leaned up, grabbed Reese by the jaw, and kissed him.

At first, Reese tensed. But Angie was a suburb kisser. Her lips coaxed him, and he melted into her embrace. The thick crowd of fans burst into joyous cheers and wolf-whistles.

“ _I… wow,_ ” Donna said, clearly taken aback.

Bella winked into the camera. “ _Well, home viewers, it looks like the magic of true love has found Reese Tarentan. Maybe they’ll be wedding bells for these two, who knows?_ ”

“ _Oh, stop,_ ” laughed Angie.

“ _Go on, kids, go enjoy the show,_ ” smirked Bella. “ _Oh, look, Donna! Next up on the carpet: TV star Becky Nelson!_ ”

“ _Ohhh, that facelift did not go well,_ ” Donna sneered. Reese and Angie moved on, drifting into the hotel, and out of camera frame.

Slowly, it dawned on Howard… that his star client was **_not_** about to self-destruct in public! Dread melted into disbelief… which then blossomed into sheer, outright joy. For almost a full minute, the manager could not say a word.

“Oh my God!!!” Delmont finally yelled in delight.

“Oh my God!!!” Howard yelled, too. “Oh my God, I love that Angie girl! I love her! **_Love her!!!_** ”

Howard and Delmont jumped up and down like elated three-year-olds, giggling and laughing uncontrollably.

The bluff had worked perfectly! **_Angie had grabbed the focus off Reese!_** Anyone watching the interview would have been dazzled by her, and never realized that Reese was high as a kite! It was almost too easy!

“Cashie is a genius!!!” Howard shouted in delirious glee.

“…who?” asked Delmont.

Howard ignored her. “Fucking A, today should forever be remembered as Angie Winters Day in this house!” he said, grinning broadly. “I love that girl, I love her!”

***** *****

Normally in a fashion show, A-list stars are seated right in the front row, so the whole world know they attended. But Reese Tarentan was a unique bird. Well-known for his obsessive privacy, Reese had demanded a private box, behind and above the audience. From there, the movie star and his date could look down upon the strutting models and remain encased in their little private world.

Angie slipped onto the plush couch, eagerly pulling Reese down to sit beside her. Behind them, the door to the private box clicked shut. Angie and Reese were completely alone. It was almost pitch-dark within the box.

Immediately, Angie kissed her boyfriend. This time, she slipped him tongue.

The mushrooms were still in Reese’s system, but the movie star was starting to regain his wits. Feeling Angie’s lips on his mouth and her breasts pressed against his body was stimulating other parts of his brain.

“Mmmm,” smiled Angie, and she parted the kiss. “Baby, you are so good, you know that?”

“…yeah,” Reese mugged. “Yeah, I know. Hey, are you a pixie?”

The beautiful blonde giggled. “Maybe I am,” she said mysteriously. “Maybe I am…”

“I knew it!” Reese declared.

The couple snuggled and necked some more.

Inside, the hypnotized Angie was head-over-heels in love. Reese was so wonderful, so perfect, so delightful, so… Words failed her. She wanted nothing but to love him and be loved by him.

Wait, no, that wasn’t everything. She wanted something more from her movie star boyfriend. She wanted…

She wanted to fuck him.

Outside the box, the theatre lights dimmed. A heavy techno beat struck up.

“ _Ladies and gentlemen,_ ” a seductive woman’s voice announced over the speakers, “ _welcome to the glamor experience that is… Collier!_ ”

The stage lights flared up. On the runway, barely-clad models strutted out from the wings, flaunting their sleek bodies and attitude. The audience broke into polite applause.

But neither Angie nor Reese were playing the slightest bit of attention. Angie moaned softly, and placed her hand on Reese’s crotch.

“I feel you in there,” she sighed. “I want you to come out, and meet me.”

“Yeah, but that’s not me,” Reese sighed back. “Your hand is feeling Dinky McSquirt-Squirt.”

“This broadsword?” tisked Angie. “Oh, no. No, no, no. This mighty pole should be called…”

She unbuckled Reese’s belt, unzipped his fly, then slid her eager hand into his underwear.

“…the Mighty Thor,” she whispered and grinned again.

Reese stared at her, aroused and enchanted. “Thor,” he repeated in wonder.

“I want Thor inside me,” Angie told him directly. She locked gazes. “Now.”

She licked her own hand, and used her spit to lubricate Thor as best she could. Reese exhaled slowly, crumbling against the couch. He let Angie work.

When she was satisfied that Reese’s cock was stiff and wet, the blonde stood, positioning herself directly before the slouched movie star. She faced away, then slid up her dress, slowly. Her buttocks were revealed, and then the small of her back. She was not wearing panties.

Thinking he was hallucinating all over again, Reese gazed upon Miss Iron Buns with reverence.

“Touch me,” Angie ordered in a low voice. She bent forward, bracing herself against the box’s railing.

Dazed, Reese lovingly ran his fingertips over Angie’s firm gluties. She gasped a little, but otherwise, waited patiently.

“Yeah…” the movie star mumbled.

With one strong hand, he slid his fingers between Angie’s buttocks. Sensing what he wanted, Angie stepped her feet apart. It was tricky, balancing in those high heels. But she had strong leg muscles and could rest most of her weight upon the balls of her tiny feet. This also allowed her to arch her back and raise her rear end just a little higher.

Moving slowly, Reese reached underneath her, touching her wetness.

“Unnnnngh,” Angie moaned.

Reese began fingering her. He was clumsy, but Angie didn’t mind. She gripped the walls as passion began to wash over her body.

Below the private box, the models were striding up and down the runway, casting their arrogant glances over the audience. Any of them could have glanced up at the private box. But none of them did.

Suddenly feeling daring, Angie grinned and bent over even more. “Fuck me, Thor,” she coaxed. “Fuck me from behind. Fuck me hard.”

Reese needed no encouragement. He stood right up against Angie, fished the now-rigid Thor out of his underwear, slipped it between her legs, and then slid his penis over her arousal. She gasped, then sighed. She loved the anticipation.

“Yeah,” muttered Reese. He used one hand to adjust his cock’s trajectory, this time, planting the tip into Angie’s wet vagina. She almost cried out in delight.

“Oh yeah, baby,” the blonde panted. “Right there. Right fucking there. Fuck me, baby, I want your cock. I want Thor!”

“Ugn,” grunted Reese, sliding in.

Angie felt him come all the way inside, felt his naked crotch push against her butt and legs, felt him glide over her G-spot. She wordlessly yelled in delight, overjoyed at the erotic sensations filling her. Her vagina sang.

Reese paused just for an instant, then began pumping. His rhythm was slow, but he used power with each thrust. Angie felt herself shoved forward with each thrust, and she loved it. She leaned back, riding that slippery penis.

The movie star built up speed, losing control. He gripped Angie’s hips and drilled at full blast, pounding the actress like he was a human jackhammer. Angie was arching her back and bouncing so hard, her breasts popped free from her dress. She felt the cooler air on her nipples, and it drove her wild.

“Oh, fucking yes!” she warbled.

Reese fucked her harder. His cock was a frictionless piston, a torpedo bashing of sheer pleasure. Angie felt wonderful. Her orgasm was rising, ready to wash over her at any second. This all felt **_so right!_**

Down on the runway, a model happened to glance up at the private box. She saw the shadowed form of a woman bending forward, a man standing behind her, and the two unmistakably thrusting away in full-on sexual intercourse.

Astonished, the model missed a step on her high heel, and tumbled onto the runway. The model behind her didn’t stop in time. Nor did the girl behind her. There was an instant pileup.

“Clumsy fucking bitch!” the humiliated model screamed, aware of the news photographers gleefully snapping away.

“Watch where you’re going!” the other women screamed back. Someone slapped someone else, a fourth and then a fifth model got sucked into the fray, and then a free-for-all melee broke out. It was Beyond Thunderdome on the Runway.

The DJ panicked, and switched to the thunderous dance music that was supposed to close the show. The noise was earsplitting. As models brawled with one another, stage managers shouted frantic instructions, and the delighted audience whipped out their smartphones… Angie felt her orgasm explode.

“Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh- ** _OH MY FUCKING GOD!_** ” she screamed in pleasure. “ ** _YES YES YES YES YES YES YES, FUCK YES!!!_** ”

No-one heard her. Below, the Collier Fashion Show was one noisy mess of complete pandemonium.

Reese let out a trembling roar as Thor burst into orgasm. And Angie, cresting over her own climax, smiled again.

She loved the moment when a man came. Before he shot off, a man could be too fast, too erratic, all power and no technique. But **_after_** … well, after was a different story. Once a man was cumming, he would relax into a more natural rhythm, taking his time and enjoying the moment. Before, a man was a frantic sprinter; after, he was a leisurely jogger. Angie loved the frenzy of the sprint, but she preferred riding the jog.

For another full minute, Reese lovingly pumped Angie, easing both of their heartrates back to Earth. She sighed happily. Reese felt so good.

***** *****

Across town, somewhere in a seedier part of Burbank, Dr. Sleepslave hurried from his car. Traffic from Beverly Hills had been murder. But he couldn’t have missed the whole shoot of HypnoSluts 5, could he?

The small studio was quiet, with only a few tired-looking technicians disassembling the film equipment. The shooting stage was dark. Sleepslave could hear women gossiping from the dressing rooms, far down the hall.

“I didn’t miss the shoot, did I?” the hypnotist exclaimed. “I mean… you guys couldn’t have filmed the whole-“

“We got it all in three long takes,” a camera guy told him. “When you didn’t show up to hypnotize the girls, we all just said, ‘ _fuck it’_. The girls faked getting hypnotized. The whole shoot was a lot faster that way, actually.”

Sleepslave felt as if he’d just seen his dog get run over. “You’re… done?” he said weakly. “But…”

“Sorry, man,” the cameraman shrugged. He certainly didn’t look very sorry. Without a second glance, he collapsed his tripod and carried it off to the backroom.

“But… they’ll still need me for HypnoSluts 6, right?” Sleepslave frantically cried after him. “Right???”

The hypnotist’s cell phone buzzed. Pissed off, he picked up and barked, “ ** _What?!?_** ” at the caller.

“ _Hey there!_ ” a cheerful voice sang back at him. “ _So glad I reached you! This is Dexter Howard, manager for Reese Tarentan! How you doing?_ ”

Sleepslave wavered. He thought back to the entranced Angie Winters, sexy, beautiful, and under his spell.

“…yeah?” he asked cautiously.

“ _Listen,_ ” Howard said, “ _Reese just loved the work you did with Miss Winters. Loved it! How’d you like to come on board as Reese’s on-staff hypnotist?_ ”

***** *****


	5. Kiss and Tell

Angie reclined in the bath, loving the hot, soapy water on her skin. She closed her eyes, and let her mind wander.

It was a day after her “date” with Reese. Angie had woken that morning elated, absolutely overjoyed to be alive! Her whole body felt relaxed and tingly. She had gone through her whole three-hour workout with an extra spring in her step. And now, even though she had an acting class, Angie had decided to take a little time for herself. The bath felt wonderful.

Last night seemed like a vivid dream. The handsome movie star… the exclusive red carpet… the glittering palace of a hotel… the wonderous fashion… Angie knew exactly how Cinderella must have felt, assuming Cinderella and Prince Charming had boned each other upon their first encounter.

Mmm, Reese… Angie smiled. She’d never had sex on the first date before, but… damn! Reese was so hot. So hot. **_So hot!!!_** The way he’d smirked at her. And touched her. And slid his fingers into her vage. And fucked her like he was a possessed stallion. Oh! Angie’s toes tingled at the memory. She sighed happily.

To her surprise, the young actress realized she was touching herself, under the water! Reese was making her horny, even in flashbacks.

Angie was about to pull her fingers back, but then she thought, _…well, fuck it, why not?_ She was alone. The memories were fresh in her mind.

So she slid deeper into the water, and enjoyed slowly stroking herself. Mmm. In Angie’s imagination, Reese was grinning, gently pushing her legs apart-

Up on the bathroom counter, her cell phone rang.

Angie jumped, then glared across the room at the little device. The worst kind of masturbation was interrupted masturbation. _Screw it_ , she thought resentfully, and resumed stroking.

The call went to voicemail, but then the phone immediately rang **_again_**.

“Goddamnit!” Angie cursed. She lurched out of the tub to press SPEAKER on the phone.

“ _That you, Angie baby?_ ” a raspy woman’s voice almost shouted. “ _Angie? Its Christine Purnanski, Va-Va-Voom Girls! Angie?_ ”

“Hi Christine,” Angie sighed, and climbed back into the tub.

“ _Oh, thank God!_ ” cried Christine. “ _Where’ve you been, doll? I’ve been calling you for, like, hours!_ ”

Before Angie could reply, Christine launched into a monologue: “ _So, darling, Reese’s people, they LOVE YOU. Love you! Ha! ‘You were so wonderful,’ they said. ‘You were magnificent,’ they said. Best of all, ‘Reese loved you,’ they said. Oh, girl, you slayed it!_ ”

“Reese loved me?” Angie smiled, her ears perking up.

“ _Oh, I always knew you’d be big,_ ” said Christine confidently. “ _And you made some nice press for yourself, too! Smooth move, Cleopatra!_ ”

Angie’s smile slipped. “I… what?”

“ _Eh, you didn’t see? You and Reese were on Donna Chambers and Bella Lancaster last night! You guys were the only celebrity couple not to get roasted._ ”

Angie sat straight up. “Whaaat? No, that didn’t happen. I’m sure it didn’t.”

Of course, Angie’s memories of last night were hazy, ever since she had met Reese, anyway. She dimly recalled the limo ride, the glamorous hotel, the fashion show… and of course, the sex. The mind-blowing, earth-shattering, bone-rattling, _I-can’t-fucking-believe-that-actually-happened_ titanic sex! **_That_** Angie could recall with no effort.

But other details were blurry, or just absent. Where did that dress come from? Who had the designer of the fashion show been? And how did Angie get home? Now that she thought about it… Angie was realizing how patchwork her memory was. Perhaps she’d had too much to drink?

“ _Oh, you definitely were on Donna and Bella!_” laughed Christine. “ _Don’t believe me? They still have the whole red carpet procession up on their website._ ”

“No,” protested Angie.

“ _Yes!_ ” insisted Christine.

Something told Angie to give her agent-representative the benefit of the doubt. She lurched out of the bath once again, wrapped herself in a towel, then scooped up her phone. A few quick taps later, and she was squinting at Donna and Bella’s website. The video of last night came right up.

“ _Oh, you’re watching it? Good,_ ” Christine said.

“Jesus!” Angie exclaimed. “There’s, like, a thousand photographers.”

“ _Paparazzi,_ ” agreed Christine. “ _Freelancers. Lucky bastards. They make really great money, if they can capture something really juicy on film. They were all hoping you weren’t wearing underwear and they could get a shot of your vajayjay._ ”

Angie was appalled. “I wasn’t wearing underwear!”

“ _Well, good thing you didn’t do a high kick, doll,_ ” Christine said, sounding amused. “ _Now skip forward to about 24:30. You and Reese arrived late._ ”

The young bodybuilder slid the video slider over and resumed the playback. There, on the tiny screen, she could see Donna and Bella snidely talking to the camera.

“ _…and it looks like Hanson’s date, starlet Ashley Dupris, has put on a little weiiiiight,_ ” Donna was saying.

“ _Donna’s such a showbiz bitch,_ ” Christine commented, admiration in her voice. “ _God,_ _I wish I represented her._ ”

“Shh!” urged Angie. Her heart thudded. In the video, the camera panned over, and Angie could see what was unmistakably Reese and her, stepping down the red carpet.

Angie stared in sheer disbelief. The beautiful young woman in the video was barely wearing anything, but the tiny dress on her torso glittered and flashed as the photographers clicked away. The Angie in the video laughed and waved, turning about and showing off her sleek, curvy body.

“That’s… me?” Angie had to ask.

In the video, Donna and Bella hurried up to the gorgeous young couple. Angie watched the interview, completely stunned. She couldn’t remember any of this.

“ _My, now”_ Donna was saying. _”And who are you?_ ”

“ _Oh, I’m Reese’s girl,_ ” the on-camera Angie giggled. “ _He’s just too perfect, isn’t he?_ ”

“ _What’s your name, girlfriend?_ ” Bella wanted to know.

“ _I’m Angie Winters,_ ” trilled video Angie. “ _Actress and fitness model. I was Miss Iron Buns 2008._ ”

Horrified, bathroom Angie placed a hand over her own mouth. “I told Donna and Bella that I was **_Miss Iron Buns?_** ” she wailed. “Why did I do that???”

“ _Aw, it went over great!_ ” trilled Christine. “ _You didn’t mention Va-Va-Voom, though, and you shoulda mentioned me! Your favorite agent! Ah, never mind, who cares. The important thing is, all of LA has seen you with Reese, they’ve seen your hot little tushie, and they know your name! Google searches for ‘Miss Iron Buns 2008’ are up 4,000%. The tech guys told me._ ”

Angie was having an out-of-body experience. Sure, the girl in the video had her voice, her body, her body language, her smile… it was unquestionably her. And yet, the other Angie was a complete airhead, quick to laugh and unafraid to swoon over her man with that sappy look in her eyes. Angie would **_never_** behave like that in real life.

The young actress studied the screen closely as she and Reese glided away into the Majestic Hotel. Now that Angie was seeing these images, the original memories from last night were returning, if slowly. She had done all of those things! It was the weirdest feeling.

“I guess I had a lot to drink last night,” Angie thought out loud. “Huh.”

“ _Listen, doll,_ ” Christine chortled, “ _Reese’s people love you SO MUCH that they want you and Reesey to step out on the town again tonight!_ ”

“Oh,” said Angie. “Tonight?”

She backed up the video and rewatched her red carpet moment with the sound off. Something was fishy here.

“Um… I think I have a thing tonight, Christine,” she said warily.

“ _Oh no, you don’t!_ ” Christine harrumphed. “ _You’re the Contractually Obligated Girlfriend. If Reese wants to step out, you gotta step out._ ”

“Right,” admitted Angie. “Okay, fine. When and where?”

“ _You need to be at his place, 7 PM. I’ll text you the address. They’re supplying your wardrobe, all you gotta do is shower and show up._ ”

“This feels like I’m a call girl,” Angie said honestly.

Christine was unimpressed. “ _Heh. I used to manage call girls, they never had it as good as this. Honey, all you gotta do is be photographed going around town with Reese, drop your name a little, and in a month, you’ll have it made! You wanna be a famous actress, don’cha?_ ”

“Um, sure.”

“ _Then get that cute little butt of yours ready to go for 7 PM._ ” Christine paused. “ _So… what’s Reese Tarentan really like? You can tell me._ ”

“You know…?” Angie said, then frowned. “I’ve absolutely no idea.”

“ _Yeah, I know what you mean, celebrities can have that effect on me, too,_ ” chortled Christine. “ _I mean, of course, I’ve never dated a star. But I once shared an elevator with David Hasselhoff. He smells nice._ ”

Angie was a little weirded out. “Um, I gotta go, okay?”

“ _Wait, wait!_ ” implored Christine. “ _Aw, com’on, give me some girl talk. All my girlfriends are married to accountants and metal shop teachers. I don’t get no girl talk no more!_ ”

Angie was annoyed. “Um, maybe next time, okay?”

“ _Fine,_ ” Christine moped. She sounded disappointed.

“So,” said Angie, changing subjects, “you’ve seriously **_no idea_** what they have planned for me, once I get to Reese’s mansion?”

***** *****

“You feel sleepy, so relaxed…!” Sleepslave told Angie, swinging the crystal pendant before the young actress’s eyes.

Angie, seated, watched the crystal dully. Sleepslave’s velvet words rolled over her, sucking her mind into a powerful trance. “In a moment,” the hypnotist commanded, “I will count from ten to one. When I reach one, your eyes will close, and you will be deeply asleep! You cannot resist! Ten…”

Working carefully, Sleepslave guided the blonde woman into an even deeper hypnotic sleep than the night before. Angie never resisted a word. When the hypnotist finally reached the count of one, he snapped his fingers, and immediately, Angie’s beautiful eyes fell shut. Her head slumped down into her chest.

“Jesus,” Mr. Howard said, thunderstruck. “She went down, as if on cue! Didn’t she realize what you were doing the moment you dangled that crystal before her eyes?”

“Naw,” Sleepslave smirked. “Last night, I gave her posthypnotic instructions so I could quickly put her under. By the time she saw the crystal, she was already a goner.”

Howard shrugged. “Okay, okay, get her ready. Go.”

“And now, Angie,” Sleepslave crooned, “you are once again madly in love with Reese Tarentan…”

The hypnotist purred on, filling Angie’s subconscious with irresistible instruction. The young woman could resist none of what he said.

“Good,” smirked Howard, glancing at his watch. “Okay, is she ready now?”

“Not yet,” Sleepslave lied, stalling for time.

Privately, Sleepslave was willing Howard to leave him alone with the hypnotized Angie just for two… well, no five… no **_ten_** minutes! **_Ten minutes!_** Ten minutes would be enough to command Angie to strip naked, have her dance around a little bit, and then put her back in that skimpy dress.

Howard frowned, adjusting his cufflinks. “Eh, I gotta take a pee,” he grumbled. “Wrap up, with Angie. But I’ll be listening!” He crossed into the little private bathroom of the lounge, then shut the door.

The hypnotist glared after him. _Goddamn it, what do I have to do to see this girl naked?_ He fumed to himself.

Fine. If he couldn’t see Angie’s bare body, then lucky Reese Tarentan would be living out Sleepslave’s ultimate sex fantasy: **_Master and Slave!_** He leaned close to the hypnotized young woman.

“Now tonight,” he whispered, “when you are alone with Reese…”

***** *****

“Oh, fuck me hard, master!” Angie moaned. She reclined onto her back, spreading her bare legs and showing Reese her shaved vagina. “I’m your horny, slutty slave, master, fuck me hard! Your horny slave, ohhh…!!!” Impatient, she started stroking her wetness.

Reese and Angie were in the snug little private dining room in Masitaweki, the trendy organic Vegan low-carb zero-carbon-footprint Scottish/Ethiopian/Turkish fusion bistro in Beverly Hills. To get a table here, one had to be Hollywood elite or British royalty. To get the private table in the luxury dining room, one had to be Reese Tarentan or the Pope. Preferably the first one.

As before, Reese and Angie had arrived by limo, where Angie flirted with and charmed the paparazzi. Then the sexy young couple had skipped into the restaurant before the dazzled reporters had a chance to ask Reese a single question. In a twinkling, Angie and Reese were secluded in their own little dining room.

Of course, Angie was hypnotized and Reese was stoned, so neither of them were thinking very clearly. Angie ordered for both her and Reese, selecting the _tofu flambe_ , which is a dish that literally served **_on fire_**.

And then, once the starstruck waiter had departed, Angie found herself completely alone with her boyfriend. An irresistible desire gripped her, and suddenly Angie was peeling out of her tiny evening dress.

“I wanna play master and slave,” she moaned, making a show of exposing her bare breasts to Reese. “Be my master? I am your horny, slutty slave…!”

Angie was a sex madwoman, seducing Reese with a lusty, unstoppable passion. Luckily, Reese was easy to seduce. Soon, Angie was completely nude, reclining on the table’s wraparound couch, and moaning, “Oh, master, fuck me, I want it so bad, so bad!” She had no control over herself.

Reese’s lips were on her breasts, tonging her nipples. Angie squirmed, enjoying the sensation… but she really wanted Thor thrusting inside her, missionary position. She wanted to feel Reese’s body on top of her as he pumped her with a vengeance. She wanted nothing else. She was the slave. He was her master.

“Fuuuuuuck, Master,” she moaned, “come inside me! Fuck!”

***** *****

Not four feet away, on the other side of the dining room’s door, the most of Masitaweki’s weight staff were jockeying at the keyhole. “Omigod, guys!” a busboy whispered loudly, in Spanish. “She’s totally naked now! Lookit her jugs!”

“My turn!” insisted the others. “Move over!”

“Oh fuck, they’re actually doing it now! Holy shit!”

“Move! Stop hogging!”

“Anyone got a cell phone? The tabloids will pay millions for this!”

“Hey, what’s going on here?” Angie and Reese’s waiter had returned, two orders of _flambe tofu_ blazing away on the serving cart.

“Reese is banging his girl!” another man whispered.

“What? No shit! Move over!”

“One sec, I just want to see…”

The waiters began to fight. “But Mr. Tarentan is my customer! I should see!”

“Fuck off!”

Absolutely no-one noticed as the serving-cart rolled away. It bumped against the wall, and unfortunately, set the draped curtains on fire.

Two minutes later, just as Angie was about to experience a screaming climax, the fire alarms went off. There was a mad scramble as Masitaweki was evacuated. Angie and Reese had just enough time to finish, yank on their clothes, and then race for Reese’s idling limo.

The young couple had escaped before the paparazzi realized what had happened.

***** *****

And before she knew it, Angie was back in her apartment. The clock just short of striking 10 PM. Angie’s mind was a hazy blur, for Sleepslave’s hypnotism was just wearing off. Her thoughts were slowly reasserting themselves. Almost sleepwalking, the dazed actress changed into boxers and an oversized tee shirt, her usual pajamas.

The cell phone rang.

The shrill ringtone helped Angie shake off her trance. She blinked, collected her thoughts, and then picked up the phone. “Um… hello?” she asked.

“ _Angie, baby!_ ” Christine almost sang out. “ _How’s my favorite talent? Eh?_ ”

Angie stared into space, experiencing _déjà vu_. Not knowing what to do, she simply laughed aloud.

“ _What?_ ” the agent-representative asked.

Despite herself, Angie was amused. “Christine, are you gonna call me after my every date with Reese?”

“ _I told you! I don’t get no girl talk no more. C’mon, tell me everything, I got my martini here, all ready to go._ ”

“Ahhhh…” Angie stalled.

“ _Go on, spill! Do you have a drink? Or –_ **ooo!** _– your favorite junk food? Its okay!_ ”

Angie was briefly tempted by the thought of a single Hoho. But she quickly pushed the naughty thought out of her mind. She hadn’t bought a Hoho in years.

“Christine, you’re my agent,” the beautiful actress harumphed. ”I mean, should you and I even be have having this kind of conversation? Is this, like, okay?”

“ _Ange,_ ” Christine said, and now she sounded forlorn, “ _I haven’t been on a good date in twenty years. Please. Give momma somethin’ to daydream about. Make me feel like I’m twenty-one again._ ”

The young actress sighed, feeling her resolve weaken. And how long had it been since she’d let her hair down and gossiped with girlfriends? Not since she became a model, certainly.

“Fine,” Angie told Christine. “But the moment this conversation gets weird, I’m hanging up.”

Christine was thrilled. “ _Ooo! Dish, dish, dish! Oh, wait. >slurp< Okay, I’m half a martini down. Now, spill everything!_”

Angie grinned. “Well… It is really fun when these tailors from the Beverly Hills shops dress you up,” she admitted. “I wish the dresses they picked covered more of my body. But that moment when they finish my outfit, and I see myself in the body mirror…! Wow.”

“ _I knew it!_ ” Christine cackled. She slurped again. “ _So, what’s Reese like? You know… when its just the two of you?_ ”

“He’s… nice,” Angie said smugly.

“ _Uh-huh,_ ” prodded Christine. “ _Just nice?_ ”

Angie relaxed, closed her eyes, and slouched deeper into her beanbag chair. She felt her blonde hair tumble in all directions.

Grinning at the memory, she confessed, “Actually… I can’t stop having sex with him.”

Christine let out what sounded like a pig’s squeal. “ _Whaaaat?_ ” she shrieked in delight. “ _No!_ ”

“Yeah,” laughed Angie.

“ _Omigod, omigod, omigod, omigod,_ ” Christine panted, possibly hyperventilating.

“I know, right?” chuckled Angie. She paused, composing her thoughts. “Its like, whenever I’m alone with Reese… I dunno, my brain goes haywire, and I have to shag him. **_I have to shag him._** I can’t control myself.”

“ _Well, he is Reese Flippin’ Tarentan. The boy is crazy sexy. The Queen of England would probably do him, if given the chance._ ”

“That’s classy,” smirked Angie.

“ _Well, it’s the truth._ ” Christine sighed. “ _I need another martini._ _Ah, girl, I’ll admit it: I’m so jealous. You got it all. Three months from now, you’ll be a hot actress, starring in…_ ”

“Romantic Comedies?” Angie said hopefully.

“ _Naw, naw, think smaller. They need bikini girls in the new Mutant Slasher horror movie; you’d be great as a sexy cheerleader victim in that._”

Angie’s smile drooped. “Oh. I thought I’d be…”

“ _What, that you’d play scenes with Meryl Streep? Please. You’re getting your face and butt known, Angie, but ya never finished acting classes. So playing Murdered Cheerleader #3 is the next best hope for you._ ”

The blonde woman scowled. In that instant, her mood deflated.

“I gotta go,” she glowered. “You know, I never actually had anything to eat tonight.”

“ _You’re already booked on another date with Reese tomorrow night! MOCA Exhibit!_ ” Christine giggled. “ _Make sure you’re on the pill! Or don’t, if you wanna be mommy to Reese Jr._ ”

“ ** _’Bye,_** Christine,” said Angie, already regretting this conversation.

***** *****

The rest of the week was a blur for poor Angie. She’d wake in the morning, still glowing from her madcap sexual encounters with Reese from the night before. She’d hit the gym, as usual, finding that she had more energy than usual to pump out her workouts. In the afternoons, she had modeling shoots or more auditions.

But then, by 7 PM, she was always summoned to 10864 Bellagio, where Dr. Sleepslave would cast his spell over her once again. In no time, Angie would be in the pervert’s power, commanded to play the airhead bimbo for the media photographers once more. Then, once she and Reese were secluded, she’d attack him with glee, always insisting on a new sex position. Somehow, the couple were nearly discovered each time, but narrowly escaped disaster.

And then, it would be evening once again, and poor Angie would find herself at home, shaking off her trance, and only remembering parts of her crazy evening. She always went to bed filled with questions… but slept soundly.

***** *****

Slowly, all of Hollywood was taking a second look at Reese Tarentan. Over $10,000 lunches, exclusive spa appointments, and between Scientology seminars, the Power Elite gossiped approvingly about Reese’s re-appearance into high society.

“I thought he was a complete cokehead!” was a common exclamation.

“Yeah, well, he looked good in the National Enquirer,” was a common response. “I guess he cleaned up his act?”

“You know, my wife was just remarking how much she likes his movies…”

“Hmm,” more than one producer found himself musing, “Reese is looking pretty good, and his box office numbers are better than ever. Maybe I should send him the script for my next big project? That kid’s future is bright.”

***** *****


	6. All of Hollywood is Going Crazy

“Nothing?” snarled Dexter Howard. “Nothing at all?”

The celebrity manager was, once again, stressing away in the center of his Rapid Media Response room. Every flatscreen TV either displayed a gossip Internet show with MUTE on, or a celebrity infotainment website. Occasionally, a website refreshed.

It was two days until the Spirit Image Awards. Howard’s luck with Reese had held all week long… so far. But nothing was in the bag. Howard hadn’t slept well all week.

“Nothing?” he barked again. With trembling fingers, the celebrity manager plucked another cigarette from his nearly-finished pack of Salem Lights.

“No, sir,” one of the tech geeks mumbled. All of the little nerds kept their heads bowed over their computers, frantically searching the Internet.

“Jesus Christ,” swore Howard. He lit the cigarette and began pacing.

Delmont Dupree, Reese’s image manager, scowled. “Calm yourself, Dex. You’ll give yourself a brain aneurism.”

Before Howard could fling back a nasty retort, one of the geeks cried out, “Got it!”

He pointed to Screen 17, and the image flickered. Everyone stared; this was the current homepage of JuciestDish.com, a truly sleazy celebrity site. The current banner story showed a glowing pic of Reese, striding down yet another red carpet, his head high. Reese was dressed in beige slacks, a loose tee shirt that showed off his physique, Italian loafers, and sunglasses. On his arm was Angie, wearing impossibly tight blue jeans, a pink string bikini top, and strappy high heels. Angie was beaming at the photographer. The photo was just ten minutes old.

The headline and story was similarly encouraging:

**_REESE TARENTAN IS BACK! HOT BOD BOY STAR TAKES L.A. SOCIAL SCENE BY STORM_ **

**_By Roxy Dacha, 6/28/2010_ **

**_So maybe Hollywood’s sexiest leading man_ ISN’T _cray-cray after all? Yum, we likee._**

**_Cinema’s current megahottie, Reese Tarentan, strode into the LA Arena for the Los Angeles Sumo Expo, ignoring the cries of reporters. This is Reese’s fifth L.A. outing this week (but who’s counting?) which makes him the most-seen star on the planet right now. The wild rumors that Reese is a drugged-out cokehead seem pretty silly._ **

**_In Reese we trust! Now, bring on Danger Skies 3!_ **

Howard let out a whoop of triumph. “Oh my God!” he crowed. “I’m a **_fucking genius_**. A genius!” The celebrity manager cut a quick little jig of happiness, scattering cigarette ashes everywhere.

Delmont reread the story carefully. “It looks good,” she admitted grudgingly. “Real good. Ya done well, Dexy.”

As she spoke, the other celebrity websites rushed “ _Reese At the LA Sumo Expo_ ” stories to the top of their pages. Three of the Internet TV shows picked up the story, too. Suddenly, the new clip of Reese and Angie walking the red carpet was playing over and over again. The TV anchors smirked with approval.

“Oh my God,” Howard exhaled, coming off his stress high. “Oh God, oh God, oh yeah…!” He took a long, appreciative drag on his cigarette.

Inspecting every Internet image of Reese, Delmont finally nodded in approval. “Good,” was all she said.

“Good?” sneered Howard. “No, not good. Fucking great! This is exactly what we needed.” He exhaled an enormous cloud of smoke, then rounded on the media geeks. “Guy, pull up all my favorites from this week!”

The geeks swung into action. The monitors flickered, now switching to screencaps and recorded bits from the gossip TV shows. Every screen displayed an earlier gossip story about Reese: Reese was seen at the MOCA Crenshaw Exhibit! Reese was spotted attending the Benefit for Sudanese Hemp Monks! Reese was striding into the afterparty of the Inception premiere! Everywhere Howard looked, Reese was fabulous!

“See?” gloated Howard. “That’s great press.”

“I’ll judge for myself, thanks,” Delmont said dryly.

“Please!” laughed Howard. He pointed at the screens. “Look, there, there, there! Our boy has never looked better.”

Delmont had to grudgingly admit… Howard’s scheme was effective. As a media relations expert, she could appreciate the stage management being used here. Reese went to these high-profile society events, appearing just long enough to be photographed, but not long enough to be caught doing anything embarrassing. The photographers were dazzled by the sexy blonde airhead on Reese’s arm, and they snapped most of their pictures of her. But the copy editors wanted picts of Reese. So they took the scant footage of Reese that they had, and well, the rest was history.

“I love this Angie girl,” trumpeted Howard. “I just fucking love her. Look at shot of Reese at the MOCA event! The idiot photographers got **_exactly one shot of Reese_** , just one! Because the morons were too busy snapping pictures of Angie’s big tits as she pranced about for them.”

“Hey, I saw something about that MOCA exhibit…” Delmont said thoughtfully. She pulled out her smartphone and tapped away for a moment. “Ah, here it is. From the National Tattler.”

“You read the Tattler?” Howard had to ask.

“Shut up,” snapped Delmont, embarrassed. She cleared her throat, then read aloud from her phone:

**_NUDES-A-TOPPLING! ART DISASTER AT MOCA_ **

**_By Tricia Wenderson, Senior Gossip Writer, BFL_ **

**_6/28/2010_ **

**_Hello, Need-to-Know Readers! Are ya ready for the latest salacious tidbits from around Tinseltown? Strap in!_ **

**_Sources Who Know tell me there was quite the kerfuffle at the Museum of Contemporary Art (MOCA). It seems that during the Madison Crenshaw Exhibit, a hot young Hollywood couple couldn’t keep their hands off one another, and snuck away for a little afternoon delight! I can’t say what the sex act was, mind you, but it might have rhymed with Joe Blob… switch the syllables, its not that hard._ **

**_What’s more, the randy couple is apparently into kinky role-playing! Yes! One shocked eyewitness clearly heard the woman say, “Oh, Master, I am your slutty slave, give me your c**k.” Can you imagine it?_ **

**_Anyhoo, the young couple apparently slipped behind Bradley Leigh Sheldon’s masterwork, Nude in Contemplation, which quickly became Nude Hiding Actual Public Sex Act. One thing led to another, and the statue was accidently knocked over, becoming Former Nude Statue, Now a Pile of Junk. The couple fled the scene._ **

**_So who were the horny perps? Well, no-one saw them for sure… but you can bet I’ll stay on this story. Stay tuned!_ **

“…so?” Howard asked.

“I’m just saying,” replied Delmont wryly, “that this happened while Reese and Angie were at the exhibit.”

At this, one of the geeks piped up. “And when Reese was at the Benefit for Sudanese Hemp Monks,” he chirped, “the monks all broke their lifetime vow of silence, yelling about how a man and were woman were having sex in their sacred bushes, or something.”

“Yeah!” another geek cried. “And then, Leo DiCaprio’s people had to hurriedly close down the Inception afterparty because someone accidently pulled the fire alarm while having sex in the corridor. At least, that’s what JuicyRumor.com said.”

Now the geeks were swapping Hollywood gossip freely.

“And then there was an actual fistfight on the runway during the Collier fashion show!”

“And then Masitaweki burned down!”

“See? All of Hollywood is going crazy,” Delmont observed, nodding.

But Howard laughed. “Forget about it, you guys” he chuckled. “This is all coincidence. Coincidence! Its got nothing to do with Reese.”

His smile faded. “…right?” he asked.

***** ***** *****

Far across Los Angeles, at the LA Sumo Expo, Angie snuggled up against Reese. As usual, her hypnotic programming made her see Reese in the rosiest-colored glasses. And although she was not thinking clearly, she was delighted to be with her boyfriend. She hoped they would be having sex, soon.

As usual, Reese and Angie were seated in a private box, completely secluded. Below them in the LA Arena, two chubby sumo wrestlers squared off in the ring, looking ferocious. The arena crowd watched in hushed suspense.

The _gy_ _ōji_ (referee) gestured, and the two wrestlers charged. Angie tensed; these guys were massive! Flesh collided with flesh, arms grappled, legs braced, and the two warriors snarled. Then, the fighter from the west made a flip, and the east warrior tumbled from the ring. The crowd applauded politely.

Angie exhaled. Watching sumo was more stressful than she’d anticipated. In fact…

It dawned on the young woman that she and her boyfriend were alone, and secluded. Something activated within her brain. She wanted sex.

“Master…” Angie moaned, guiding one of Reese’s hands under her skimpy bikini top. She leaned closer, her lips seeking his…

The door to the private box opened. “Oh, excuse, please!” a pleasant young woman exclaimed, her Asian accent very thick indeed.

Angie almost leapt through the ceiling. In a mad scramble, she tucked her exposed breast back into the bikini top and pushed away from Reese.

Entering the box was a lovely Asian lady, dressed in a white kimono with small, pink flowers woven into the fabric. The lady’s wrapped feet wore silent wooden shoes. What’s more, the woman’s long, black hair was carefully plied atop her head with chopsticks, and she wore the most delicate makeup imaginable. Angie didn’t know a thing about traditional Japanese fashion, but she thought this lady looked like a princess.

The woman was carrying a lacquer tray in her small hands. On the tray was a dark clay bottle and two small glasses.

“Excuse, please,” said the woman in choppy English. “I am to pour the sake for Mr. Reese.” She pronounced it _saaah-KEY_.

“Uh, no, no, that’s okay,” Angie said hurriedly. “We’re, um, we’re okay, really.”

“You would refuse?” blinked the woman, taken aback.

Angie had a fleeting memory from her Eighth Grade World Cultures class: _In Japan, it is rude to refuse the offer of a beverage or gift,_ Mr. Klatt had lectured.

“Ahhhh… no,” Angie allowed grudgingly. “Sure, we’d love some sake.”

“Ah, good, yes,” smiled the woman, and she set her tray on a small table. Then, with impossibly precise and slow movements, she began to pour the wine.

Angie watched the woman, thinking absently. One moment, she was superrandy, ready to hump Reese like a porn star. The next, she was feeling absolutely chaste, with no desire for sex whatsoever. It was like her mind was careening between Slut and Normal modes. _What was going on?_

As the Asian server was pouring, she snuck a glance at Reese, then visibly blushed. “Oh, Mr. Reese,” she murmured. “I am no supposed to talk with you, but… oh… I biggest fan!”

“Yeah, sure, thanks,” mumbled the movie star.

The young woman glanced at the shut door, then leaned forward. “Don’t tell anyone,” she said in a conspiratorial whisper, “but I not Japanese! I am Cambodian! Excuse, please!”

She gushed. “In my country, very poor, we not have many movies.” Her face glowed. “But we see Reese Tarentan movies! Oh yes, all the time!” She mimicked a film heroine: “Oh, look out, Danger Skies, look out! Hee hee hee…!”

“Man,” Angie said dully to Reese. “Baby, you’re a celebrity everywhere.”

“Oh, Mr. Reese, he very very famous,” the server assured her.

Angie’s hypnotized mind was still foggy. For reasons she didn’t understand, the blonde actress began talking. “In my junior year of high school,” she absently murmured, “I had to do a Social Studies report on the Bahnai tribe. They’re an island people, somewhere in Southeast Asia. I forget on which island. The Bahnai are a people who, like, totally shun the idea of celebrities. In their culture, no-one is more important than anyone else.”

She laughed softly to herself. “Can you imagine? A world where no-one is famous?”

Reese pulled back a little, eyeing her. His expression was unreadable.

***** *****

Reese and Angie settled back to watch the sumo, occasionally sipping sake. Angie observed the wrestlers with the critical eye of a fitness expert. Annoyingly, the Cambodian woman did not leave the box, and so Angie had to keep her hands to herself.

And yet, that overwhelming desire to attack her boyfriend did not return. Angie felt absent-minded, yet in control of herself.

As another wrestling match concluded, Reese spoke. “Those sumo guys must have the weirdest exercise regime,” he commented.

It was an offhanded remark. And yet, Angie could help but turn and stare. In all her time “dating” Reese, the man had never once spoken a coherent sentence.

“I mean, think about it,” Reese went on, murmuring quietly. “I don’t know shit about sumo, but doing this sport must be all about your weight and how much you can push.” He cocked his head to one side. “I bet they do a lot of squats. They couldn’t do my regime, however.”

Angie, the champion bodybuilder and Miss Iron Butt 2008, knew a thing or two about squats. She studied the two wrestlers as they struggled in the ring below. “They do a lot of squats,” she agreed.

“Eh, squats are overrated,” judged Reese. “I mean, squats have their place, sure, but they’re no substitute for things like abs training or good, sweaty cardio.”

The movie star spoke matter-of-factly, not betraying any snide judgement or malice. Still, something competitive within Angie was provoked.

“Well,” she replied airily, “you just aren’t doing squats right, then.”

Reese frowned at her. “I work with the best fitness coaches in the world,” he boasted. “You want to tell me that their advice is wrong?”

Locking her eyes on her boyfriend, Angie said coolly, “Their advice is wrong. Sorry, darlin’.”

Reese seemed surprised.

“You just couldn’t do my squat training,” remarked Angie, teasing the movie star slightly. She patted his chest. “But that’s okay.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Reese objected, sitting up. “I couldn’t handle your regime? Chick, I do extreme kickboxing for four hours straight. I did the full Iron Challenge training to prep for Body of Desire and Executive Action. Full Iron Challenge, got me?”

“That’s nice,” replied Angie, and smiled.

Reese sat back, bewildered. “Gimme me another sake,” he ordered the serving woman.

After the Cambodian server handed him a full glass, Reese gulped down the wine. “Right,” he said, standing. “Let’s go.”

“Go?” Angie gasped. “Go where?”

“To the gym,” Reese declared. “We’re doing squats. You ‘n me. Right now.”

Flabbergasted, Angie could only babble, “But… the limo won’t be back for another hour…”

“So we’ll figure something out,” shrugged Reese. “You ready?”

“I come too?” the server exclaimed hopefully.

“Ah, no,” Angie said quickly.

“You take this box,” Reese told the server with an inviting grin. “On me. It’s the best seat in the house.” To Angie, he gestured. “C’mon, let’s fly.”

The movie star and his date slipped out of the box, leaving the disappointed server behind. Glum, she sat where Reese had sat, and drank the sake straight from the bottle.

***** *****

“Okay, we’ll need a car,” Reese thought aloud. “Any idea how to get one?”

Angie and Reese were standing in the corridor outside their box. The blonde actress stared at her boyfriend, amazed.

Up until today, Reese had been an absent-minded fool, if an enormously cute one. And, of course, Angie had been hypnotized to see the movie star as nothing less than the ultimate charmer. But now, Reese was alert, making boasts, stating opinions, talking like an actual human being. Angie was startled. _What was causing this?_

And because Reese’s new behavior was throwing off the carefully-planned schedule, Dr. Sleepslave’s hypnotic instructions were now meaningless to Angie. On her own, she was coming out of her trance.

Reese gave Angie a peculiar look. “Hey there, Earth to Angie,” he said, snapping his fingers before the blonde actress’s face. “You with me? How can we get a car?”

Angie blinked. “Uh, right,” she said. “Taxi?”

“I used to take taxis,” Reese groused. “Before Danger Skies. Sure, that’ll work, taxi sounds good. Let’s go!”

The strange couple moved to the stairwell, then climbed all the way down to the ground floor. Angie cursed, as her breasts wanted to bounce right out of her tiny bikini top. She had to cradle her chest for the entire climb.

At the bottom of the stairs, there was a pair of double doors that led out into the LA Arena’s lobby. Reese froze.

“What?” Angie asked him, tucking her nipples back under her top.

“Shit, I can’t go out there,” Reese muttered. “I’ll be recognized.”

“Ah,” said Angie. “Well… we can’t get a taxi from in here.”

Her boyfriend nodded in agreement. “Right. Okay, then. We’ll go quickly. I’ll keep my head down, and we’ll make a beeline for the street. But that means you’ll have to grab a cab, like, immediately. Okay?”

“Dude, this is LA,” Angie said, dubious. “People in this town see movie stars all the time. We’ll be okay.”

Reese’s expression darkened. “Just grab a cab quick, okay?”

He took a deep breath, then pushed the doors open.

***** *****

The LA Arena’s lobby was large, easily the size of Angie’s whole apartment building, and then some. There were perhaps thirty people milling about; talking, laughing, surveying the vending machines, taking selfies.

“Go, go!” Reese hissed quietly. He hunched his shoulders, looked downward, and strode towards the outer doors.

Angie thought her guy was being silly, but she was in no position to argue. So she merely trotted after Reese, trying not to let her chest bounce too much.

“Don’t make eye contact with anyone,” Reese warned over his shoulder.

It was too late. A teenage woman glanced Angie’s way, then did the world’s biggest doubletake. “Oh… my…” she gasped aloud.

“Go, go, go!” Reese urged. He broke out into a jog.

“Its **_REESE TARENTAN!!!_** ” shrieked the girl. “Omigod, everybody, **_everybody look!!!_** ”

Every last man, woman, and child stopped and spun around. As one, they rushed toward the movie star. Even the security guard and the Arena employees dropped everything to come running.

“ ** _Reese!_** ” the crowd yelled. “ ** _Reese, I love you! You’ve so cute, so hot, so awesome! Wait, can I get your autograph? Can you do a selfie for Facebook? My friend is having a party; can’t you come? Reese!_** ”

Reese broke into a sprint, forcing Angie to sprint too. The stampede of fans poured on speed, too.

Like he was dashing for his freedom, Reese threw open the lobby doors and charged out onto the sidewalk. Immediately, he plowed into about a hundred passersby, all of whom screamed in delight when they spotted him. As one, they converged and mobbed him. Nearby, loitering paparazzi snapped up their cameras and started shooting like mad.

Seeing how dire the situation was, Angie pushed past the crowd, heading for the street. Surprised at how stressed she felt, the young blonde craned her neck, praying for a taxi.

And as luck would have it, a lone yellow cab was cruising her way, one car in the flood of regular LA traffic.

“ ** _TAXI!!!_** ” Angie screeched.

Not caring if she was flashing the entire downtown rush hour, Angie jumped up and down, waving her arms frantically. Drivers stared.

But the cabbie spotted her. He set his flag, and started to cut over lanes.

“Reese!” shouted Angie, only now turning back to her boyfriend.

The movie star was practically in hand-to-hand combat with the mob. Hands reached for him from all directions as the thick crowd pressed in. Everyone wanted a piece of Reese. The handsome actor could barely move.

The cab pulled up to the curb.

“Reese!” Angie hollered again. “Let’s go!”

“ ** _No, no, wait, wait!_** ” screamed the crowd. “ ** _Reese!_** **_We love you, Reese!_** ”

But Reese was determined to escape. Like one of the action heroes he played on the screen, he pushed and wove his way through the throngs, making a bold escape. Hands tore at his clothes, hoping to stop him, but he kept on going.

In a flash, Angie and Reese piled into the cab’s back seat. “ ** _Go!_** ” they shouted at the Armenian diver in unison.

“Reese Tarentan!” the driver cried, delighted. “Why, I-“

“ ** _Go, drive, drive, drive!_** ” screamed Angie, sounding like a madwoman.

The cabbie hit the gas, Angie and Reese were thrown back into their seats, and they were off. The driver flashed a toothy smile.

“Jesus Christ,” Angie exclaimed, shaken. “Reese, baby – you okay?”

Reese’s shirt was badly torn in three places. His hair was mussed, and there were scratches on his arms. But the movie star shrugged. “Take us to… South Olive and East 16th,” he ordered the cabbie.

“Where we going?” Angie asked, fixing her top.

“To a gym,” Reese said pointedly. “I told you, we’re doing squats.”

Angie blinked, then gave her date a funny look. “Don’t you have a gym in your house?”

And immediately, Reese gagged. “Aw, I don’t wanna go there,” he sulked. “Stupid Dex would tell me that I’ve gotta go meditate or sign autographs or some such bullshit. And you’d be sent home.” He set his jaw. “So we’re goin’ out.”

“Okay,” Angie grinned. She was strangely charmed.

***** *****

In the Media Rapid Response Room, Dexter Howard was finally unwinding. He had slipped away for two snorts of coke, and now his head was popping in just the right way. Life tasted good.

Most of his staff had wandered back up into Reese’s mansion, leaving Howard, the tech nerds, and Delmont Dupree alone in the Media Center. The geeks were back to playing Gears of War, but were keeping a loose eye on the TV gossip shows.

Khisa Beckenstone entered, marching straight up to Howard. A stern look was on her face. She thrust a folded piece of paper at Howard.

“What’s this?” Howard frowned.

Khisa’s reply was almost a snarl: “My letter of resignation.”

“Aw, God…!” groaned Howard. “Really? You’re quitting? I mean, **_really?_** ”

“I’m tired of being a nanny for your boy-child,” the Englishwoman snapped. “Furthermore, I’m really tired of you ignoring all my calls and texts. I’m through.”

Howard struggled to think. True, there were thousands of eager Hollywood wannabes who could fill Khisa’s shoes. But for crying out loud, the Spirit Image Awards were tomorrow night! Howard needed Khisa, at least until then.

“Look,” he harumphed. “Just stay on for a week, okay? Then, we’ll set you up with, eh, an audition, for-“

Khisa’s eyes flashed. “Mr. Howard, you’ve been promising me auditions for months now, but you’ve never delivered. Which is probably just a well, as I don’t want to be a bloody actress!”

“Fine,” scoffed Howard. “Fine, whatever. Get out, ya ungrateful tramp. I hope your crooked teeth fall out.”

At that moment, Hollywood Now!, a cheapie entertainment show, interrupted its broadcast. “ _This just in!_ ” the young woman behind the anchor’s desk gasped. “ _Reese Tarentan has caused a traffic snarl in downtown LA!_ ”

The show cut to fresh footage, the paparazzi footage from outside the Sumo Expo. Howard watched with dread as, on the screen, Reese was mobbed by the good citizens of LA. He thrashed about, then dashed into a taxicab with that Angie bimbo. Several cars rear-ended one another as drivers craned their heads to look. And then the cab tore off. The scene resembled the frantic getaway from a bank robbery.

“ _Oh my God!_ ” the Hollywood Now! anchor exclaimed. She gushed. “ _We don’t know what that was, but Reese looked in a mighty hurry!_ ” She turned to her co-anchor, an aging hipster with salt-and-pepper hair. “ _Why would Reese dash off like that?_ _Maybe he did something illegal…?_ ”

“ _There’s no way to know,_ ” the other anchor said grimly. “ _But viewers, you can bet we’ll stay on this story!_ ”

Howard thought his brain might be exploding. “What the fuck…?” was all he could gag out.

As the horrified manager watched, all the entertainment websites picked up the “ _Reese on the Loose!_ ” story, one-by-one.

“Jesus Christ, how could you let this happen?” Howard screamed at Khisa. “You dumb bitch, I told you to make sure he took the **_tranquilizing_** mushrooms!”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you, you bloomin’ wanker!” Khisa yelled back. “Reese stopped taking mushrooms! He hasn’t taken anything all week!”

Howard stared. “Reese is sober?”

“Check your text or voicemail,” Khisa spat. “Yes, Reese stopped. I don’t think he’s even been drinking. He just stopped, once he met that Angie chick.”

Feeling like he’d been punched in the gut, Howard put his head in his hands. “…er, any idea where Reese could be going?” he asked feebly.

“Well, figure it out, ya prat,” snapped Khisa. “I don’t work for you no more.”

And with that, she spun on her heels and marched away.

***** *****


	7. Romantic Sumo Wrestling

The Receptionist Desk at BodyMax Supreme Workouts, LA’s most exclusive fitness center, was having a busy afternoon. After all, there were famous clients to schedule, spin classes to book, massage requests to refer to the spa, personal trainers to assign, and much more. There were also so many new customers to refuse membership, because of course, at BodyMax, only the elite can come to sweat! To work out here, you had to be a C-lister, or higher.

Nonetheless, the receptionists all gaped like monkeys when the street doors opened and none other than… _gasp!_ ...Reese Tarentan himself strode in from off the street! **_Reese Tarentan_** , it was actually him! Jaws hung wide open as the movie star of movie stars displayed his famous smile and approached.

“Hey there,” the megastar grinned, flashing his perfect pearly whites. “Listen, I’m not a member here, but I was wondering… could one of you guys do me a favor?”

At this, the reception staff broke out of their trances, and fell over one another. “Yes sir, Mr. Tarentan!” they chorused, smiling with all their might. “Of course! Yes sir! What can we do for you?”

“Well, now, see…” Reese lowered his voice, as if confiding a precious secret. “See, my lady friend and I were hoping to do a little bit of exercising.”

The receptionists blinked. Reese had a lady friend? Oh yes, there she was, just behind him. The lady was a gorgeous blonde, beautiful, with a stunning body. She was wearing designer jeans and the world’s tiniest pink bikini top. She offered a nervous smile.

But Reese was still pouring on the charm. “Now, I know BodyMax is a busy place and all, but-“

“What kind of a workout did you need, Mr. Tarentan?” an overeager manager asked.

“Weight training. We need to work on our squats. In complete privacy, of course.”

“Oh…” The manager’s face fell, slightly. “Well, er, the Body Sculp class is up in the Weight Room now, sir. Up on the Sixth Floor. But if you’d care to wait in our Juice Bar Lounge for perhaps twenty more minutes…?”

“Or I could go over to Diamond’s Gym, across town,” Reese said dryly.

“The Weight Room is yours!” promised the manager. “Its yours! We’ll clear it out immediately.”

“Aw, thanks,” Reese grinned. He glanced at Angie, eyeing her skimpy top. “And hey, listen, we forgot our workout clothes. You mind if we help ourselves to whatever we need from your gift shop?”

***** *****

In a twinkling, Reese and Angie were in brand-new tee shirts and shorts, all with the stylish BodyMax logo on them. Reese posed for a few Instagram photos with the staff, and then Angie and her date were completely alone in the expansive Weight Room.

The air here was still damp with sweat, but Angie didn’t mind. She was at home in gyms. And BodyMax’s equipment was state-of-the-art; not even NFL players had access to such technological wonders.

Reese was unphased by the athletic glamor. “Okay now,” the movie star said, striding over to a squat machine, “let’s see what you’ve got. I’m guessing you lift…” His eyes scanned Angie’s muscles. “…eighty pounds total?”

“Stand aside, Slick,” Angie huffed. She grabbed two twenty-five pound plates from the racks. “Here, help me out?”

The two actors worked quickly, adding weight to the bar. Angie found that her thoughts were clear and focused. She couldn’t remember Sleepslave’s hypnotism, of course, but after the dash from the LA Arena, the frantic taxi ride, and now moonlighting at the world’s most exclusive gym, her trance had completely worn off. Sleepslave had not anticipated any of this, and as a result, Angie’s mind was entirely free of his influence.

“Okay,” Angie said, putting the clamps onto ends of the bar, “that should do it.”

Reese pursed his lips. “Yeah, so you’ve only loaded up a total of one-fifty. That’s all you lift? _Pfft_. In the Full Iron Challenge, we had to do-“

“Right, right,” scoffed Angie. “You want to impress me? Let’s see some sweat.”

The movie star shrugged, then stepped into the machine. He set the bar across his shoulders, braced his knees, and released the safety. Then he dipped down in one, two, three smooth squats. Angie watched him, amused.

“See?” Reese told her. “Nothing to it.”

Angie absently played with a lock of blonde hair. “Keep going. You’ve got forty-seven more reps to do.”

Reese ogled at her. “You do **_fifty reps?_** ”

“Yeah, at high speed. And then five more sets, in between one-minute rests.”

Looking dumbfounded, Reese started squatting as fast as he could. He managed fifteen more squats before he had to stop, red-faced and winded.

“Careful, there!” Angie chided him. “You’ll hurt yourself.”

“There’s… no way… you do… fifty…” Reese wheezed.

“Stand aside,” said the actress.

Reese and Angie switched places. Then, as if it was effortless, the young woman flew through fifty squats at a speed even greater than Reese’s. The squat machine hummed with frictionless excitement as she zipped up and down. Reese stared, amazed.

When she was finished, Angie neatly clipped on the safety. “See?” she asked pleasantly, and stepped out of the machine.

“How…?” Reese was dumbfounded.

“I’m Miss Iron Buns,” explained Angie, playfully smacking her own tush. “Iron Buns beats Full Iron Challenge.”

Reese nodded, still heaving for breath. “Damn.”

Angie folded her arms, patiently waiting for her boyfriend to catch his breath. She wore a small, playful smile on her lips.

“Okay,” the movie star mumbled, regaining his composure. “Okay, okay.” He cocked his head to the side. “How much do you bench?”

Now Angie laughed for real. “Dude, you know damn well that’s not a fair comparison! I weigh at least fifty pounds lighter than you do! I can’t compete.”

“Fine,” Reese allowed. “Well, I bet I could wallop your ass at… at…” He grinned. “…sumo.”

Angie raised her eyebrows. “Oh, really?”

 _This is nuts!_ she thought to herself. _What are you doing?!?_

Still, baiting Reese was fun. And Reese seemed to like Angie’s spunky attitude.

“C’ere,” the movie star gestured, a grin on his face. He moved to the free weights section of the room. Here, the floor was thickly padded with black mats. With quick motions, he popped off his shoes and socks, then motioned for Angie to do the same.

“You’re loco,” laughed Angie. “Are you serious?”

“Totally.”

“Dude, have you ever sumo’ed before?”

“I know enough,” bragged Reese. “Come on, girl, get barefoot, so I can smack your ass.”

“Lemme get this straight,” Angie deadpanned. ”You wanna sumo wrestle me, even though you’ve never done it before and might kill yourself?”

Reese chortled, “You sound mighty sure of yourself.”

The blonde shook her head, now unable to resist her own smile. Bantering with Reese was fun. “Your funeral.” She took off her sneakers, then quickly bound her hair up in an improvised bun.

Too late, Angie realized that she’d had her toenails painted bright bubble gum pink at her last pedicure.

“Ha!” guffawed Reese. “Nothing says ‘ _ferocious in the ring_ ’ like pink toenails.”

“Shuddup,” Angie pouted. He was trying to rouse her!

“Alright…” Reese looked about. “Let’s say this mat and that one…” – he pointed – “are the sumo ring. We’ll just pretend it’s a circle, okay? And I don’t know all the fancy chants, so we’ll skip those. Sound good?”

“You got it,” agreed Angie, and she took up a spot across from Reese in the improvised arena. “Nice knowin’ ya, big boy”

“You just talk tough,” Reese teased. His eyes twinkled.

Angie forced herself to concentrate. “Okay. On the count of three?”

Sumo is actually a very simple sport. Two wrestlers enter the fighting ring, and their objective is simple; to knock the other guy out of the ring, either by shoving or tossing them. Traditionally, Sumo champs tend to be large and heavy, for a great bulk can simply overpower an opponent. But sheer weight isn’t everything.

Reese and Angie faced one another, squatted, and locked eyes. Reese had an arrogant smirk on his face. “One… Two… Three!”

Both actors charged one another. Reese sought to plow Angie right off the mat. But the blonde actress was faster. She planted her legs and leaned forward. When Reese’s body hit hers, she was braced and ready; he was not.

With a quick flip at her waist, Angie grabbed Reese and using his own momentum, easily flipped him off his feet. The actor staggered, then crashed onto his back.

“ _…oof!_ ” he puffed, surprised.

Angie laughed again, unable to help herself. She dropped her fighting stance and stood over Reese, her arms folded in triumph. “Had ‘nuff?” she teased.

Staring up at her, Reese merely said, “Holy… shit!”

“Come on, Sumo Boy,” the actress said graciously, extending a hand.

Reese accepted her help, gingerly climbing to his feet. “How’d you do that?”

Angie shrugged. “Early on, I tried a number of other training regimes. That was actually jujitsu. But its allowed in sumo.”

“How you know that?”

Blushing, Angie admitted, “Okay, I don’t **_actually know_** if its allowed in sumo. But com’on, if it isn’t it should be.”

Reese’s face adopted a joyous smile. “You cheated!”

 _He’s flirting with me,_ Angie realized. She liked it.

“I did not!” she half-protested.

“Did so!”

“What are we, in third grade?” Angie giggled. “Did not, not, not!”

Reese was mock-outraged. “Oh, you’re such a cheater!” he declared, grabbing Angie in a playful hug.

Angie couldn’t resist the opportunity to tease him more. “What, you want to get flipped again?”

There was a pause. Both actors stared at one another, delighted by the moment. Angie slipped her arms around Reese’s neck, completing the embrace. His lips were so close…

Time seemed to stop.

The door to the Weight Room banged open. Dexter Howard charged inside, with perhaps another twenty of Reese’s managers in tow. Embarrassed, Angie and Reese jumped apart.

“Reese, buddy!” Howard exclaimed. He looked beside himself. “Reese, Goddamnit! You freaked me out! **_What’re you doing?_** ” Her glared at the two actors, and in particular, at their bare feet.

“Awwwwwwwwwww, man!” groaned Reese. “Dex!”

Angie scrambled to put her sneakers back on.

“Why did you leave your phone in the limo?” fussed Howard, moving to protectively take Reese by the arms. “And what’s with this joyride to BodyMax? Reesey Baby, you can’t do endorsement deals without consulting your people, you know that! I swear, this is worse than when you invited that Internet swindler, Chubby Martinez, into the mansion.”

“Chubby’s not a swindler,” Reese protested. He pushed away from Howard to retrieve his shoes and socks.

“And **_you_** ,” the celebrity manager snapped, rounding on Angie, “if this was some silly little power play, forget about it! There’s a thousand girls in Hollywood who’d kill for your job. Don’t you fuck with me!”

“Hey, leave her alone,” Reese glowered.

“We’ve gotta get you out of here,” Howard stressed. “Don’t forget Reese Baby, tomorrow are the Spirit Image Awards. You gotta be on your A Game until then.”

The movie star was unimpressed. “Oh, whatever, dude.”

“Reese, baby, you don’t get it,” said Howard, worried. “Those BodyMax assholes, they’ve been bragging that you’re here! On Facebook! So right now, Channels 2, 9, 11, 34, and TMZ are outside with news vans. Hell, every freelance photographer in town is probably scaling the outside of the building to take a picture of you!”

“What?” Angie exclaimed, horrified.

She ran to the window and looked down. Sure enough, the sidewalk was swarming with reporters, cameramen, and hollering fans. Traffic on East 16th Street was hopelessly snagged.

As Angie stared in dismay, a news chopper lowered before her, hovering before the window. A cameraman was inside, filming away.

“You stupid bitch!” Howard yelled. “Get away from there!”

And with that, Reese’s people all grabbed the movie star at once. Like the Secret Service evacuating the President, they charged back out into the corridor, leaving Angie behind. She never had a chance to say good-bye.

***** *****

“It was the weirdest time,” Angie confessed to Christine. “Like something out of a romantic movie with Jennifer Aniston, or something. Except with wresting.”

It was perhaps an hour later. After Reese’s people had stuffed the movie star into a military-grade SUV and roared away, Angie had snuck out of the back of BodyMax, using a fire exit to make her escape. By a miracle, none of the paparazzi spotted her. She walked five blocks, then flagged a cab to take her home.

Now it was perhaps 10 PM. Angie was back in her apartment, microwaving a quick dinner. To her surprise, she was actually excited to gossip with her agent.

“ _Oh, I love Jennifer Aniston movies,_ ” Christine sighed. “ _That girl can do no wrong, as far as I’m concerned._ ”

“I know, right?” said Angie.

“ _So, what happened once you and Reesey were alone in the gym? Did he want to knock boots over the dumbbells, or something?_ ”

“No, that’s just it,” Angie laughed. “For the first time since I’ve met him, I didn’t want to shag Reese rotten. I was able to keep my hands to myself.”

Christine sounded impressed. “ _You two never had any restraint before._ ”

“What do you mean?” said Angie, suspicious.

“ _Oh. Well, from what you described, it sounded that the moment you two were alone, you became a raging, sex-starved she-beast._ ”

“Well, I was,” Angie admitted. “Every time I fucked Reese, it was like I was under some kind of spell.”

“ _Well, tomorrow’s the Spirit Image Awards,_ ” said Christine, becoming all-business. “ _Reese’s people care more about the Spirits than anything else._ ”

“I’m not sure Reese cares about them,” Angie said, removing her soup from the microwave. “He’s never mentioned them once.”

“ _Well, Reese’s managers sign your paychecks, sweetheart,_ ” cracked Christine. “ _So getcha head in the game, okay?_ ”

Angie sighed. “Sure. What time do I have to be at Reese’s mansion?”

***** *****

The car service picked up Angie exactly at 1 PM, just as Christine had told her. Angie sat in the back seat, idly watching Los Angeles roll by her window as the driver headed towards Beverly Hills.

Something she’d said in passing was stuck in Angie’s mind: _Every time I fucked Reese, it was like I was under some kind of spell._

The beautiful young woman frowned. What was that sentence stuck in her head? And what did it mean?

***** *****

As usual, Angie was ushered into a spare bedroom, where Reese’s wardrobe people fussed over her from head to toe. “You’re going to an awards show,” the head fitter told her. “In LA, that’s practically a mass religious event. So we’re gonna put you in a designer gown, but it’ll still be sexy.”

“Is Reese here?” Angie asked.

“Damned if I know,” the fitter clucked, stooping to retake Angie’s measurements. “I work for the guy, but I’ve never met him. Most people who work for Reese never meet him. Reese is the most private guy in Hollywood.” He paused. “Could you get me his autograph?”

“I’m sure Reese would give it up, if you asked him,” countered Angie.

“Oh, sure, its that simple,” scowled the fitter. “Look, girl, we’ve got less than three hours to transform you into a sexy goddess princess. Can we skip all the chatter?”

***** *****

Angie’s black gown covered more of her body than usual, but it was no less alluring than anything else she’d worn. The dress was formfitting and strapless, which meant her shoulders, back, and most of her breasts were exposed. From just above the nipples on up, she was completely naked. Clinging to her skin tighter than a shadow, the gown slid down Angie’s torso to hug her hips, then allowed a long skirt to fall down to her feet. There was a large slit on each side of the skirt, which meant whenever Angie walked, her bare legs were visible. A glittering diamond necklace and matching earrings completed the outfit. Angie’s blonde hair was teased, then carefully wrapped atop her head.

“Oh, I am a genius, a genius!” the dressmaker sighed as Angie turned about to admire herself in the body mirror. “Do you mind if I snap some images to put on my website?”

“Um, sure,” Angie allowed.

After the impromptu model shoot, the blonde actress was hurried into the next room. Dr. Sleepslave was waiting for her there, alone.

“Hey there, babe,” the balding man smiled. “Mr. Howard wants you and I to talk, before you and Reese get in the limo to take you to the show.”

Angie stared at Sleepslave, wheels turning in her head. Suddenly, her mind unlocked. _It was like I was under some kind of spell…_

“You’re a hypnotist!” Angie exclaimed with a sudden realization. She grew alarmed. “You’re… you want to do your hypno on me!”

“Oh no, no,” assured Sleepslave. “Look, if you can sit down for just a moment-“

Angie was angry. “Fuck you! **_You’re_** the fucking reason I’ve been throwing myself at Reese!”

Sleepslave glared back. He put two fingers to his own temple, then said in a slow, powerful voice, “ ** _Nutmeg._** ”

A posthypnotic suggestion triggered within Angie. Her face went blank as her anger wilted. It was suddenly impossible to think.

“Now,” Sleepslave said firmly, “sit down.”

Angie obeyed. Soon, she was watching Sleepslave’s crystal swing before her eyes, and she was falling under his power once more.

“The crystal controls you, baby,” crooned Sleepslave. “The crystal controls you…”

***** *****


	8. Its All Over

Like all of Hollywood’s biggest award shows, the Spirit Image Award Grand Presentation Spectacular was oversized, opulent, and more than a little tasteless. Tens of thousands of starstruck movie devotees thronged in the bleachers outside the Dolby Theatre, all screaming like mad for the A-list celebrities who strutted down the dark red carpet. A small army of photographers snapped away, gleefully capturing every last step and gesture of Hollywood’s royalty.

Angie and Reese glided down the crimson runway, Reese is usual distracted self, and Angie laughing and turning about, doing what she could to distract the cameramen. More than one commentator remarked at how lovely she looked; the gossips almost forgot Reese was there.

And across town, in Dexter Howard’s Media Response Room, all of Reese’s managers had gathered to carefully watch the Spirit coverage. Tension was high. Half of the managers were chain smoking, creating a gray fog at the center of the room.

“Okay, okay,” Howard said tersely. Reese and Angie had just appeared on Donna Chambers’ and Bella Lancaster’s broadcast. “Okay, people, everyone relax. Everyone relax! We’re almost home free.” His heart thumping, he watched Donna and Bella shove their microphones at Reese, only to be dazzled by a giggling Angie.

Howard’s cell phone rang. The celebrity manager jumped. The caller ID said: **_MACINTYRE_**.

“Oh fuck me, its **_him_** ,” moaned Howard. “Its him!”

Immediately, all of Reese’s managers turned to stare at Howard. Smiling nervously, Howard cleared his throat, picked up the call, then said, “…’yello?”

“ _Afternoon, Dex,_ ” Magnus Macintyre’s husky voice said from the phone’s speaker. “ _I’m glad I caught ya._ ”

“Magnus!” replied Howard, then forced a chuckle. All of Reese’s managers drew closer, on pins and needles. “Magnus, how are you?”

Macintyre sounded nonplused. “ _Eh. Listen, Dex, I ain’t got a lotta time. Tonight’s my big night, ya know._ ”

Howard forced another laugh. “Oh, no problem, Magnus. No problem.”

“ _Just wanted ya to know,_ ” drawled Magnus. “ _You ‘n yer team did a real nice job with Reese this week. Real nice. My people were watching him in the media. Good coverage._ ”

Howard hoped he sounded nonchalant. “Well, you know, Magnus, Reese is just an all-American kid. All that ugly stuff you were reading, it was just lies to sell papers.”

“ _Yeah, I’m starting to believe that,_ ” Magnus said thoughtfully. “ _They say that the Warner Brothers had the same kinds of problems with Errol Flynn and Clark Gable, way back in the day._ ”

“Did they?” smiled Howard.

Suddenly, Wong, Reese’s AAA sponsor, jumped to Howard’s side. White as a sheet, he tugged at Howard’s elbow. Howard shoved him away.

“So, Magnus, was there a reason you were calling…?” Howard asked, fishing.

“ _Oh, yeah,_ ” replied Magnus. “ _Lissen, this is between just you ‘n me, right?_ ”

Now Okarana Tuule, Reese’s event scheduler, was pawing at Howard, hysterically pointing to the TV monitors. Howard angrily waved her away.

“Of course, Magnus, of course,” assured Howard.

“ _Okay,_ ” Magnus said. “ _So between you ‘n me,_ _I just wanted to let ya know that I ‘managed’ the voting for Best Actor, and… eh… Hmm.”_

“Yes?” said Howard, almost shaking his phone. “Yes???”

 _“Hey, hold on a second?_ ”

Now Delmont Dupree and five other managers were all grabbing at Howard and making frantic hand gestures. Howard lost his cool, clamped his hand over his phone’s speaker, and roared, “ ** _WHAT???_** ”

“Look!” Delmont wailed. “Fuck, look!” She pointed at a screen.

Howard followed her finger and immediately wanted to vomit. There, on Monitor 11, was the current homepage of CelebDish.com. The screaming headline proclaimed:

**_REESE INTO SICKO DM SEX???_ **

Howard allowed himself a few seconds to skim the article:

**_Reese Tarentan, America’s N.O.S. (Number One Superhottie), is into dominant Master/Slave sex! In PUBLIC! Yes, for real. You read it here first. Multiple video clips of the star has surfaced, showing him doing his current girlfriend, Miss Iron Buns 2008, while she is forced to beg and call him ‘Master’…_ **

Oh, that was bad. That was bad! Howard felt his stomach turn inside out.

“Oh, shit,” Delmont groaned.

As the managers watched in terror, every website picked up this story, one-by-one. The headlines were brutal:

**_REESE THE MASTER : PUBLIC SEX WITH SLAVE GIRLFRIEND_ **

**_AMERICA’S FAVE STAR : DOMINATE THE BITCH!_ **

**_REESE SHAGENTAN : PERVERT STAR’S MASOCHISTIC SEX LIFE SPILLS INTO VIEW!_ **

**_CAUGHT ON VIDEO: REESE’S DISGUSTING FETISHES!_ **

Several of the sites showed different videos of Reese and Angie having public sex, with their exposed genitals blurred out: Angie giving a BJ at the MOCA’s Madison Crenshaw Exhibit! Reese and Angie banging in the bushes outside the Benefit for Sudanese Hemp Monks! Reese and Angie, doing it reverse-cowgirl outside the Inception premiere afterparty! There was no mistaking Reese’s and Angie’s faces in the videos.

A tech geek clicked on the video displayed on CelebDish.com. The video’s sound came on the Media Room’s speakers, with Angie clearly crying out, “ _Oh, Master! Fuck me so hard, Master, make me your slutty slave, I only want to be your fucktoy! Oh, shit!_ ”

Howard threw the geek a horrible glare, and the nerd quickly killed the audio.

His throat dry, Howard raised the phone to his ear. “ _…Magnus?_ ” he croaked.

Meanwhile, on TV, Donna Chambers and Bella Lancaster were about to interview Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie. But then, a skinny producer rushed up, talking excitedly to the snide hostesses.

“ _What?_ _Holy shit!_ ” Donna exclaimed, live and on-the-air. “ _A public sex and humiliation scandal? Reese? Reese? Where did he go? Reese???_ ”

On the phone, Magnus Macintyre came back, and said, “ _Listen, Dex. Somethin’ come up. I gotta go._ ”

He hung up.

“Magnus?” Howard whimpered helplessly. “…Magnus?!?” He bellowed, “ ** _MAGNUS???_** ”

“Oh, shit…!” cringed Delmont. She pointed to another screen.

Up on CNN, Wolf Blitzer was announcing, “ _…we now interrupt the president’s news conference about peace in the Middle East to bring you this breaking story: Reese Tarentan, America’s top movie star, has been exposed as a sex deviant and masochistic hypocrite! For more on this story, we go live to Los Angeles, where, I’m told, scandalous video footage of the star has just been released on the Internet…_ ”

***** *****

Inside the opulent Dolby Theatre, Angie and Reese strolled through the lobby. Angie was still under deep hypnosis, acting on Sleepslave’s instructions without any conscious control over herself. To her, everything seemed like a dream. She smiled and waved at the gaping people.

In the past, Angie had been used to the people staring at her and her famous boyfriend. But now, something was different. Everyone seemed to be checking their smartphones, then gawking at Reese, as if they were shocked at his appearance.

“Hello, all!” Angie trilled, obeying her hypnotic programming. “Hello! We love you all!”

No-one waved back. Everyone murmured and shook their heads, reacting as if Reese and Angie smelled like a garbage barge.

“I wonder what’s up with them?” Angie giggled. “Oh, well. Let’s go to our seats, Reesey?”

Reese didn’t answer.

Angie glanced upward. High above her, there was a crystal chandelier, sparkling away like an artificial constellation. One of the crystals caught Angie’s eye… She frowned. Why did that seem familiar?

For a moment, the young actress had a vision: _A crystal was swinging before her eyes, back and forth, back and forth… A man was saying, “You are feeling sleepy. The crystal controls you…!”_

Another young woman, obviously an actress here for the awards show, rushed forward. She jabbed a finger into Reese’s chest, bristling with indignation. “How **_fucking_** dare you!” she shouted.

Angie blinked. “Excuse me?” she asked.

The actress glared at her, but continued focusing her ire on Reese. “I looked up to you!” she bellowed. “In Danger Skies, you were my fucking hero, man! And all the time, you were some **_sick sex pervert_** , who get off on denigrating women and calling them slaves? **_You make me sick!_** ”

The actress, beside herself, shoved Reese on the chest with both hands. Angie felt the force of her impact, and she let go of Reese’s arm. She staggered back…

…and instantly, Sleepslave’s hypnotism was broken. Angie could remember everything that had happened to her in crystal-clear detail. None of the hypnotist’s instructions had any influence in her mind.

“…oh my God!” she exclaimed. Her insides felt as if they were twisting into knots.

“Oh, shut the fuck up, you slut!” the actress spat at Angie. “Its airheaded chicks like you who let guys walk all over them and get away with this sexist shit. You’re why we women can’t get ahead in this industry.”

“…what?” was all Angie could say.

“And **_you,_** ” the actress hissed at Reese, her eyes narrowing into slits, “you’re fucking scum. I hope your balls rot and your slimy dick shrivels into a twig. Asshole.”

She slapped Reese across the face, then stormed away. As she did, all the people watching broke out into supportive applause.

Angie reeled, aghast at her memories, her bare-it-all dress, and the vicious stares of everyone in the great hall. Not one people seemed to pity her. The boos and shouted insults were growing louder.

Her heart shattered, Angie turned and ran from the lobby.

***** *****

All of Hollywood imploded overnight. Not only was every major TV network and website screaming about Reese Tarentan’s alleged sicko sexual proclivities, print news got in on the action, too. The stuffy New York Times and London Times each devoted all of Page A1 to the scandal, for three days in a row! The airwaves were filled with egghead psychologists, prattling on about how Reese Tarentan was obviously abused by an oppressive mother figure – or something – and to compensate, Reese had to invent deviant sexual relationships where he could act out his blah blah blah blah blah…

Other stories started coming out of the woodwork. Suddenly, the former wait staff of Masitaweki explained why their beloved restaurant had burned down: Reese Tarentan had knocked over lit candles while dominating his girlfriend in the private dining room! And then, one of the models from the infamous Collier Fashion Show went on Fox News. She talked about how she’d spotted Reese masturbating on **_and then beating_** his girlfriend during the show! Well, of course this is why that model lost concentration and fell on the runway. And then, in a separate story, it came out that Reese had knocked over that priceless MOCA statue while playing master-and-slave with his girlfriend.

And on and on and on. Every instance of Reese’s and Angie’s public trysts was sniffed out by the media, and then made into front page headlines. There was no mercy for the two actors.

Angie became a media victim herself. The paparazzi descended upon her apartment building, and she discovered that couldn’t leave home for three days. Hordes of photographers camped out on her sidewalk, waiting to snap her picture. When she didn’t appear, the newshounds harassed her neighbors or picked through her trash.

Everyone Angie had ever spoken with was being interviewed. Heather Wemberly and Julie Strank, Angie’s old high school classmates, became momentary celebrities, eagerly telling the media about what a bitch Angie was in the old days and how they always knew she was really a slut. The reporters ate it up.

Luckily, Angie had enough food in her refrigerator to camp out. She kept the blinds drawn.

***** *****

When she couldn’t stand the isolation any more, Angie picked up her phone. Luckily, she got Christine on the third ring.

“Oh, Christine…!” Angie moaned, then burst into tears. She hadn’t realized how badly her feelings had been hurt.

“ _Ange, babe, ya got a tough break,_ ” Christine said, not very sympathetically. “ _Hey, Hollywood’s a dog-eat-dog town, girl._ ”

A car horn honked in the background. Wherever Christine was, she was outside.

“Why do they all hate me so much?” wailed poor Angie. “I didn’t do anything! I was hypnotized to become that… bimbo they see on the videos!”

“ _Eh, that don’t matter,_ ” Christine scoffed. “ _Plus, in this industry, once they see you having sex, there’s nothing left to the imagination. By the way, your videos with Reese are now top sellers on YouPorn.com right now. FYI._”

“Oh, Jesus,” Angie sniffed, then blew her nose on a Kleenex. She tried to compose herself. “Okay. Let’s take stock. What does this do for my career?”

“ _You career?_ ” Christine laughed. “ _Angie, your career is over. Its all over. From now on, you’re the blonde skank that ruined Reese Tarentan’s image. Sky Blue Suntan Lotion has dropped you. Your modeling contracts don’t want you. Va-Va-Voom don’t want you. Heh. I’d go back to Olive Garden, if I were you._ ”

Angie couldn’t believe her ears. “Christine… why are you being such a bitch? Aren’t you supposed to be my agent?”

“ _Your agent?_ ” The other woman echoed. “ _Baby, I quit Va-Va-Voom this week! I’m a freelancer now._ ”

“You quit?”

“ _Oh, yeah!_ ” Christine sounded proud. “ _Who’d ya think filmed those sex videos of you and Reese? It was me! Once you told me that you ‘n Reese were schooping in public, I knew video footage of the two of you would be worth boatloads of money! So I got you to tell me where you ‘n Reesey would be, I snuck into those events, and my trusty digicamcorder did the rest. You two looked great._ ”

Angie thought a bull had kicked her in the stomach. “You did what?”

“ _Hey, I did what anyone else in my position wudda done,_ ” Christine said haughtily. “ _Besides, paparazzi get paid way better then agents. Heh. I’m staked outside Leo DiCaprio’s mansion right now._ ”

Despite the wound of betrayal in her chest, Angie was offended. “Oh, so you aren’t staking out me?”

“ _Doll,_ ” Christine chuckled, “ _you’re so last week’s news. In forty-eight hours, a picture of you will be worth maybe five bucks. Leo’s new Italian girlfriend, however, that’s worth ten grand,_ **fifty grand** _if I can catch the little skank sunbathing with her top off. Ha!_ ”

Hurt and outraged, Angie flung her phone against the wall.

***** *****

Not knowing what else to do, Angie simply waited. She listlessly watched reruns on TV Land. And she cried.

Five days after her discussion with Christine, the young blonde woman was out of food. She had to venture out for necessary groceries. There were a handful of photographers outside who snapped her picture, but then disappeared. And Angie wasn’t harassed after that.

But her old life was gone. No-one at Va-Va-Voom returned her calls, and Angie didn’t know if she wanted to go on a modeling shoot, anyway. The handful of contacts she’d made in the industry refused to speak with her.

On one particularly bleak day, Angie forced herself to go to an open audition for a low-budget horror movie called Slime Creatures 7: Sucking Terror. She read for Bikini Girl #4.

She was also laughed out of the audition. “C’mon, we aren’t that desperate to we have to hire Reese’s slave-slut,” one producer snorted as he wadded up Angie’s headshot. “Please!”

***** *****


	9. A Conversation in the Rain

After the Sprint Image disaster, all Angie had left were her regular workouts. There was no professional reason to hit the gym anymore, of course, nor could she think of a way to pay next month’s membership fee. But there was literally nothing for her to do.

As she exercised, Angie had to put up with gawkers and staring rubes. More than one person yelled a harsh insult at her, and many brainless men tried hitting on her. Angie pretended to ignore it all.

***** *****

The Friday following the awards, it rained, a big rarity in Los Angeles. Angie was halfway through her cardio routine, trying to focus on a Mexican soap opera up on the gym TVs.

“Oh, shit, its her!” one of the women on the treadmills behind Angie stage-whispered. “Reese’s slave-slut! Angie Winters!”

Another woman giggled. “Who do ya think she’d gonna throw herself at next? Charlie Sheen?”

“Naw, William Shatner.” Both women broke out into cruel guffaws.

Crushed, Angie slapped her Stairmaster’s **_STOP_** button, grabbed her bag, and stormed out of her gym. She didn’t care that it was pouring outside. She just wanted to get away. Tear stung her eyes.

And of course… she’d misplaced her car keys. Angie ransacked through her purse, cursing and weeping in shame. Life was determined, it seemed, to make her suffer.

“Hey there?” a male voice behind Angie said.

“ ** _What?_** ” the young woman screamed, whirling around.

She gaped. There, in the rain before her, was Reese Tarentan.

He looked different. The former movie star was wearing old jeans, sneakers, and a sopping wet hoodie. The hood was up, which let you see his face only if you looked at him from straight ahead. Reese had big bags under his eyes, and he hadn’t shaved in perhaps a week. His ice blue eyes searched Angie’s face carefully.

“Oh my God!” screeched Angie, and she shoved Reese away as hard as she could. Her purse fell to the wet parking lot, and spilled open.

Reese hurried forward, stooping to help gather up Angie’s things.

“Don’t fucking touch that!” the young woman shouted. “You fucking prick! You ruined my life!”

“Yeah, I know!” Reese cried back, holding up his hands. “Can I just talk to you?”

Angie’s eyes shot daggers. “Why? What the fuck do you want from me now? ‘Cause there’s no way I’m about to be your fucking girlfriend anymore.”

“I didn’t know they were hypnotizing you,” Reese insisted. “I had no fucking idea!”

“Sure,” sneered Angie.

“Can you just listen to me for just a second?” implored Reese. “Look, just a second. Then I’m out of your life forever.”

“You’re already out of my life forever,” Angie snarled.

“Oh, come on,” groaned the former movie star. “I’m cold and shivering my butt off. Please: trust me. I just wanna talk. Please.”

He turned on the charm, using that smoldering look that seduced worldwide audiences in Danger Skies. “Please?”

***** *****

The two actors abandoned Angie’s car and ran down the street to a tiny donut shop. The owner stared at the infamous couple, but said nothing when they ordered two coffees and a chocolate glazed. Before any of the other customers could snap a picture, Angie and Reese fled. They went behind the little store, if only to escape any gawkers.

Behind the donut shop, they found a tiny little loading dock, under a cheap metal awning. Before them, they could see a pothole-filled parking lot, currently being pounded by the rain. Reese sat on the dock, then gestured for Angie to join him. After a suspicious pause, she did.

“So,” snorted Angie, “whaddya want?”

“It was not easy to track you down,” Reese admitted. He sipped his coffee, took a bite out of the donut, then offered it to Angie. “I played a detective in Total Deliverance, but that was no help.”

“Ugh, whatever,” Angie scoffed. “That movie sucked, by the way.” She ignored the donut.

“Look…” Reese choose his next words with care. “I’m so sorry about everything that happened to you. Everything.”

Despite her anger, Angie was surprised. Why was Reese apologizing?

“I had no fucking idea they were using a hypnotist on you,” Reese said quietly. “I’m ashamed that I didn’t know.”

He took a second bite of donut, then continued: “When Dangers Skies went big and suddenly I was a star, there was a lot of things that I wasn’t prepared for. Suddenly, everything I fucking did was scrutinized. You know, I once forgot to leave a tip at a diner in Arizona… and the media spent a week beating the ‘ _Reese the Cheapskate_ ’ drum?”

Angie sipped her coffee, but said nothing. She remembered those tabloid stories.

“When you’re a star,” scowled Reese, “you become a property. You’ve gotta maintain that property, ‘cause there’s a million people out there working to tear it all down.” He made a helpless gesture. “So you hire people who help you maintain. And those people get a little obsessed. Crazy obsessed.”

“Dexter Howard was more than a little crazy obsessed,” Angie frowned.

“Yeah,” Reese agreed. “Yeah, I see that now.”

“Is this why you were stoned off your ass all the time?” Angie wanted to know.

Reese looked uncomfortable. “Look, I’ll tell you… but only if you answer a question first. Promise?”

He offered the donut.

Sighing, Angie accepted and took a nibble. She knew the fried sugar was the worst possible thing for her BMI… but now, worrying about her figure seemed pointless.

“Promise?” pressed Reese.

“Fine, fine,” Angie allowed. “I promise. Shoot.”

“Why’d you want to be an actress?”

“Why?” Angie blinked, considering. She stole another nibble, then sipped her coffee. “Well… I dunno, I just figured that it was easier work than fitness modeling. More prestigious, too.”

“That’s what I thought too,” agreed Reese.

“You modeled?”

“Child model. Then I did underwear campaigns in my teens.”

“Huh,” remarked Angie. She handed back the donut.

“The thing with acting is…” Reese glared at the puddles under the rain. “First, when you’re starting out and you’re unsuccessful, you work like a dog. You get no respect and get paid scraps.”

“That’s if you’re lucky,” Angie pointed out. Reese nodded, stealing another bite of donut.

“But then,” the fellow went on after he swallowed, “when you make it big, everything changes for the worst. Like I said, you’re a fucking property. You can’t go anywhere, ‘cause the public will tear you apart. You can’t be seen doing anything embarrassing like buying toilet paper or drinking at your fave sports bar. And God help you if you do or say anything that offends someone’s PC sensibilities.”

Reese took a swig of coffee. “So what do you do? You become a fucking prisoner. You pay a fortune for a big house, then hire a bunch of people to watch over you. Suddenly, everyone you know wants something from you. Usually money. Everyone is quick to laugh at your jokes, even when you’re not making jokes. No-one ever gives you an honest opinion. A million bootlickers want to be your friends. Not one of them want to actually know you. All your human contact is fake.”

“So you got permanently stoned,” Angie accused.

Reese flashed an annoyed look at her. “Hey, don’t be so fucking quick to judge,” he grumbled.

“Well, its true.”

The actor scowled. “Hey, I just sampled some… stuff,” he said defensively. “And only mushrooms.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” Angie retorted. “Drugs are drugs.”

“Mushrooms are non-addictive,” Reese pointed out. “But… yeah… I discovered that life felt better when I was high then was I was sober.”

He paused.

“I got angry,” he admitted. “When I realized that so much of my life was being controlled, I started acting out. Like, hiring a Godawful trash artist to repaint my mansion. Or letting chimpanzees run wild on my property. Stupid, stupid, petty shit like that. A lot of the craziness was just me finding creative ways of giving the middle finger to the rest of the world. I was only happy when I was stoned off my ass and making trouble.”

There was a quiet pause.

“But then I met you,” Reese said quietly.

Angie slid him a suspicious look.

Beyond them, the rain was beginning to let up. Reese offered Angie the last bite of donut. After a pause, she accepted and popped it into her mouth.

“Look, Dexter set me up with other Contractually Obligated Girlfriends before,” Reese said. “Those girls were always beautiful, sexy, photogenic, whatever. But it was clear that they always wanted to sleep with me because they wanted a role in my movies. They were golddiggers. They were like everyone else in my hollow life.

“But then, I met you. Yeah, the first couple of times we went out, I was really wasted. I admit it. But you were so carefree and so hot, and it was impossible to resist you. Plus, you never once tried to talk about your career or slyly ask about my next movie. You seemed to be getting into me for just me.”

“I was hypnotized,” Angie pointed out.

“I didn’t know that,” countered Reese. “But being with you… it was possible to forget about being a movie star. And just be a boyfriend.

“So I stopped taking the mushrooms,” Reese went on. “Oh, I still acted like I was all doped up. I wanted everyone to think I was an idiot. But I was secretly watching you. At first, I thought you might be high on something too. ‘Cause you were always so happy, so giggly all the time, you know? Still, I wasn’t sure.

“It wasn’t until we were at BodyMax together, just being goofy, that I saw a new side of you. You were… I dunno, you were a **_real person_**. You called me ‘ _Dude_ ’, and you didn’t seem to care about my fame or my money. You were just hanging with me, as if we were… friends.” Reese hesitated. “I haven’t felt that in years.”

The handsome actor gazed into the rain, suddenly looking very, very old.

“Yeah, well, what about the master/slave sex thing?” demanded Angie. “Or having sex in public? If you were sober, how come you never stopped any of that?”

“I thought that was what you wanted!” Reese protested. “After all, you always came on to me!”

“So you never….?”

“No!” Reese made a face. “Jesus Christ, I knew what would happen to my career if we got caught boning in public!” His expression softened. “But I guess I liked you, and I wanted to make you happy.”

Angie sat back, considering. “So… huh. Reese, dude, you’re blowing my mind.”

“After the night of the Spirit Image Awards, I finally confronted stupid Dexter,” the actor continued. ”That’s how I learned about the hypnotist. Of course, by then, I was too late.”

There was genuine regret in Reese’s voice.

The unusual couple fell silent. The rain had stopped, and the air was thick with humidity. The clouds were parting. Sunlight was streaming down from above.

Angie’s coffee had cooled. She swirled the beverage around in it paper cup, weighing all that Reese had said. “So,” she finally asked, “why are you here to see me, dude? Shouldn’t you be kissing the asses of the studio heads, so you can still make Danger Skies 3?”

“I don’t wanna make Danger Skies 3,” Reese replied softly.

Angie looked at him, surprised.

“You know something?” Reese told her, leaning closer. “I don’t wanna make another movie, ever.” He shrugged. “I climbed to the peak of Hollywood, and what did it get me? A world without friends. And a prisoner in my own house. Fuck that.”

The actor gave Angie a funny look. “You know something else?”

“What?”

“I don’t think you want to be an actress, either,” Reese said knowingly. “You decided to become an actress just don’t have anything better going on. Am I wrong?”

Angie didn’t know what to say. “Dude,” she exclaimed, “Somehow, I’ve gotta make my rent, I’ve gotta pay the bills… I gotta work. So its acting or modeling or working at Olive Garden.” She set down her coffee cup. “I’ve gotta choose something. That’s real life, Reese.”

“Can I tell you something?” the actor asked.

Angie studied his chiseled face. “…sure,” she allowed.

“My name is not Reese Tarentan,” the actor admitted. “Never was. ‘ _Reese Tarentan_ ’ was a fake stage name from the start, cooked up by my agent. And by a studio focus group.”

Surprised but charmed, Angie offered a small smile. “So, who the fuck are you, dude?”

“Dwight Studecki.”

Angie laughed quietly. “It’s a good name.”

“My foster parents thought so,” Dwight sighed, then cocked his eye at his beautiful companion. “Are you really Angie Winters?”

“Yeah, actually.”

Reese/Dwight leaned closer. “I’ve got a crazy idea,” he said airily. “I’ve got a yacht. What if you and me went sailing… and never came back?”

Now Angie was gaping openly at the handsome actor. “You’re high,” she accused.

“Sober as a priest,” Dwight promised.

“Dude, you don’t have a fucking yacht,” Angie reminded him. “Oh, you had one… but you lost it, remember?”

Dwight laughed aloud, really laughed. “Oh, shit, that’s what the National Enquirer thought! I pranked those stupid motherfuckers, just to see if they’d print what I told them.”

Angie felt bewildered.

“I have a yacht,” sighed Dwight, coming off his laugh. “But I didn’t lose it. I lent it to my friend, Chubby Martinez.”

“Oh,” Angie said, certain she was being had. “Chubby Martinez, your friend the Internet swindler?”

Dwight waved a carefree hand. “Oh Jesus, Chubby isn’t an Internet swindler. He was my first tech guy, the dude who set up my Facebook and Twitter and Instagram and all the computer shit I don’t care about. He got caught downloading illegal porn, and things got blown out of proportion. But he’s a level guy.”

“You’re sure?”

“Totally. Just to fuck around with the Enquirer, I let Chubby borrow the yacht, until I needed it. And now, I need it.”

Angie was almost certain she was being pranked. “No…” she said, half-bewildered, half-charmed.

Dwight gave her a look. Then he chugged the last of his coffee, set down the cup, and fished his cell phone from his pocket. He scrolled through his Contacts, then hit a number. The phone dialed.

“ _Hola,_ ” a man’s voice with a heavy Spanish accent said.

“Yo, Chubby!” said Reese. “Where you at, man?”

Chubby’s voice brightened. “ _Hey, hey! Bro, I’m out by Catalina. The fishing out here is great, man. But I’m getting low on Corona beer. Can you send some?_ ”

“Yeah, funny,” Dwight replied, rolling his eyes. “Chubs, my lady friend here doesn’t believe you’re on the Bird. Can you send us some photographic proof?”

“ _Oh, one sec._ ” Angie heard a click, and then Dwight’s phone indicated he’d just received a new text. He tapped the icon.

Now on the phone, Angie could see a picture of an overweight, jolly-looking Mexican, smiling from ear to ear. He was standing on one of the most beautiful boats she’d ever seen. Behind Chubby, the blue Pacific sparkled.

“See?” Dwight grinned quietly. To the phone, he said, “Okay, Chubs, I’ve got some bad news for you bro.”

“ _Awww… You need the boat?_ ”

“The time has come, my friend. Do me a favor, bring it into port, gas her up, and stock all the supplies? Charge it to my card.”

“ _S_ _í, no problemo, boss. Uh, how long you gonna need it…?_ ”

“Could be a while, Chubs,” Dwight said firmly. “Maybe forever. Just stock the boat up for a long trip, okay? Oh, and no spicy snacks this time. My stomach doesn’t have your tolerance.” He cupped the phone, and asked Angie, “Anything you want on board?”

“Wait, wait!” Angie sputtered, her spirits lifting. “You… you want me to sail away with you on your yacht?”

“Yeah,” replied Dwight. His eyes were sincere.

Not knowing if she was hypnotized all over again, Angie merely laughed. “I… I can’t sail away!”

“Why not?” Dwight asked. “Is there anything for you in LA? Friends? Family? Career?”

“This is crazy,” insisted Angie. “I don’t know how to sail!”

“I do. I’ll teach you.”

“Where would we go?”

Dwight grinned. “You know, I just heard about the Bahnai tribe. They’re an island people, somewhere in Southeast Asia, you know. The Bahnai totally shun the idea of celebrities. In their culture, no-one is more important than anyone else.” His smile widened. “That sounds nice. What if we went to go find them? Just you and me?”

“I…” Angie didn’t know what to say.

“Let’s do it,” Dwight implored her. “I got no-one in this world. You’ve got no-one in this world. Let’s go be a little crazy… together.”

Suddenly, Angie couldn’t stop smiling. The sun was out, painting a rainbow over the sky. She gestured to Dwight to remove his hand from the phone’s speaker.

“Yo, Chubby,” she said with an impish grin, “can you find us a case or two of Hoho’s?”

***** *****


	10. Epilogue

The sky overhead was bright blue. The Pacific sparkled all around, and the sea breeze sighed gently. The air was warm, pleasant. Angie inhaled deeply, enjoying the scent of the ocean. It was a gorgeous day.

“Now… I hold the wheel like this?” she called out.

Dwight was down on the forward deck. He straightened, studying Angie’s stance. “That’s it!” he cried back. “Just hold the wheel firmly, ‘cause it can start spinning quickly if you’re not careful.”

“Oh my God,” exclaimed the blonde woman, her elation finally getting the better of her. “I’m sailing! I’m actually fucking sailing!”

“And you look great, baby,” grinned Dwight. “Now, hold ‘er steady.”

Feeling completely free, Angie pulled the ribbon from her hair. Her blonde locks caught in the wind, and tumbled free. She stood aboard Dwight’s yacht, the Freedom Bird, proudly holding the silver ship’s wheel. In this bright sun, she’d opted for a bikini. Oh, not a sexy, string-and-patches-of-cloth bikini, one meant to show off as much of her cleavage and ass. Oh, no. No, this was a **_practical_** bikini, one that fully covered her hips and tush and gave her chest some proper support. Angie hadn’t worn a practical bikini in years. It felt wonderful.

The Freedom Bird was a state-of-the-art, forty-foot, one-masted schooner. Angie didn’t know a thing about yachts, but the elaborate craftmanship and comfort of the Bird were obvious even to her novice eye. The little ship had a large sundeck for tanning, a control bridge with a lot of fancy, waterproof computers built into the dashboard, and then a comfortable party/fishing area in the aft. Below deck, there was a tiny kitchenette and dining area, a snug cabin with a bed for two, a modest bathroom, and then an expansive hold, filled to the brim with supplies. The hold had plenty of birth control. No mushrooms. And Dwight’s limitless credit card was on standby in case the pair of runaways ever needed to go shopping.

As Angie experimented with the ship’s wheel, Dwight came up beside her. “I was thinkin’…” he began.

“Uh-oh,” teased Angie. “Now we’re in trouble.”

“Shut up,” Dwight said playfully. “No, I was thinking, why don’t we cut the motor, run up the sail, and see how far the wind takes us?”

“You know how to do that?” Angie asked.

“Sure,” replied Dwight. “Com’on, I’ll show you.”

“Wait a second,” smiled Angie.

She set the lock on the wheel, then took Dwight, her boyfriend, her **_real_** boyfriend, in her arms. “That sounds like heaven,” she murmured happily.

Dwight smiled back. And then they kissed.

***** *****


End file.
